


Desdichado

by searchingwardrobes, snowbellewells



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Baelfire as a villian, Chivalry, Don't get mad, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Ivanhoe crossover, Knights - Freeform, Normans vs Saxons, Sir Killian the Knight, captain swan is endgame, no magic, read the tags, starts out sleeping captain
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-01-15 09:14:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 28,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12318078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/searchingwardrobes/pseuds/searchingwardrobes, https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowbellewells/pseuds/snowbellewells
Summary: The hooded pilgrim with the bright blue eyes glanced towards the banqueting table and saw what had caused her  reaction, for the faces of most of the Knights of the Templar were filled with lecherous looks towards the blonde that were far outside the code of chivalry.Once again, his fingers itched to reach for the hilt of his sword and reveal his true identity.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> * I love the story of Ivanhoe, but I really don't like the ending. I mean, it just seems like neither Rowena or Rebecca (or Ivanhoe, for that matter) truly get a happy ending. So this is my Once version where I get to do what I want with it :)  
> * I am trying to be mysterious here, especially with the opening chapter, but I also had to tag this story. I also didn't want anyone reading it thinking it was one thing when it's actually something else. This is a Once version of Ivanhoe, so Killian starts out with Aurora (who is Rowena in this story). I don't ship Sleeping Captain, and I never have, but that seemed like the pairing that made the most sense with this storyline. Those two did have chemistry (I also saw them together in The Tudors), and Aurora makes a fitting Rowena. But . . . read the tags. I also didn't tag this as Hook\Aurora because that's not endgame, and people who hardcore ship that would probably be upset. Augh, so much for surprises! Oh well . ..

              Rain dripped from the hood of the dark figure waiting amidst the copse of trees by the roadside. The storm had obliterated what little moonlight there was on this wretched night. However, the hooded man could still make out the figures on horseback, mere hunched shapes upon their mounts, huddling in the wet and cold. Lightning illuminated the sky for but a moment, sparking in the blue of the mysterious figure’s eyes and lighting the approaching company enough that he could make out the colors they bore: red crosses on a white background. Knights of the Templar.

              The man, dressed in simple homespun clothes with only a cloak of rough brown cloth to protect him from the storm, slipped from his place amidst the trees. He made his way closer to the band of knights, and as he did, he could just make out their words above the storm.

              “Did you see it in the flash of light?” one shouted to the others. “The Castle Rosenwood, I’m sure of it.”

              “Aye, as did I,” another replied, “Lord Stefan will be sure to give us shelter from such a storm, a Saxon though he may be.”

              The stranger in the shadows clenched his jaw and both his fists at their words and accompanying laughter.

              The next voice that spoke up seemed a bit more humble and gracious than the rest. “Yet isn’t Prince James betrothed to Stefan’s daughter, Aurora? He doesn’t seem to mind their Saxon lineage.”

              “Have you seen Lady Aurora?” another asked, voice dripping with a suggestiveness that went against every chivalrous code of a knight. The stranger in the shadows rested his hand upon the hilt of his concealed sword, though he knew that exposing himself was folly.

              “Aye, that I have,” another voice hooted amidst the uncouth murmurings of the men. The simple stranger’s blue eyes narrowed to slits at the sound. It was a voice he knew well. That of Sir Baelfire, whose father was the Grand Master of the Templar. “Lady Aurora is most fair, tis true. I don’t blame Prince James one wit for the match.”

              “I would be careful, Sir Baelfire,” another knight, older and wiser, warned him. “Lord Stefan is quite protective of Lady Aurora. He banished his own ward, who was like a son to him, because he had the misfortune of falling in love with her.”

              “Sir Killian,” Baelfire spat, “don’t dare speak of him, any of you. My most glorious day in the Crusades was hearing news of his death.”

              The simple pilgrim took advantage of the quiet that descended upon the company to make his presence known. “If you seek the Castle Rosenwood,” he called out in a loud, yet humble voice, “I know the way.”

              Several of the knights leaned forward on their steeds, straining to see amidst the downpour. A flash of lightning aided them, and they could just make out the man dressed in the clothing of a simple pilgrim. His hood obscured his face, but his bearing seemed unintimidating. They agreed to let him lead the way, turning their horses towards a path that wound up a hill to their right. They lifted their faces despite the wind and rain, already feeling the warm hearth of the castle before them.

                            **********************************************************

              Lord Stefan and his daughter Aurora were just as welcoming and hospitable as rumors had said, and Lady Aurora was just as beautiful. They also welcomed the simple pilgrim, offering a place by the fire for him to take his meal. He watched the company, his face still hooded and in shadows. Several of the knights were clearly taken with Aurora, Sir Baelfire flirting with her shamelessly. Yet the lady remained aloof as propriety demanded.

              “You have just come from the Crusades, Sir Phillip?” Aurora asked the knight to her left in a soft, kind voice. He was the knight whom the pilgrim had noted spoke with such humility on the road.

              “Yes, m’lady,” he answered politely, yet the pilgrim noted the slight waver in his voice and the way his wine sloshed a bit when he lifted his goblet. Yes, Lady Aurora had many admirers tonight. “We are saddened by how few of our company returned home. War is a brutal affair that I am hesitant to speak of to a lady.”

              “Come now, Phillip!” Baelfire laughed, lifting his own goblet and winking audaciously at Lady Aurora. “You could regale the lady with tales of our adventurous exploits. The Normans fought with much skill and bravery.”

              King Stefan’s voice was cool steel as he asked, “Were their no brave Saxons on the field of battle?”

              Baelfire scoffed, heedless of the graciousness of his host, “For every brave Norman there were three Saxons crying for their mothers.”

              “That’s not what I’ve heard.”

              The pilgrim’s voice cut strong and true through the bragging and laughter of the company of knights. It caused an uneasy silence to fall upon the room. The pilgrim stood, the light from the fire casting eerie shadows upon his face, obscuring its features. Baelfire shuddered, wondering what deformities the cloak concealed to cause him to keep it up indoors.

              “There are tales,” the pilgrim continued, “of a Saxon who matched you stroke for stroke. A knight called Sir Killian?”

              Baelfire’s fist tightened around his goblet and his lips thinned in anger. “I would take on Sir Killian right here and now to prove who is the better knight! If he were still alive, that is.”

              Lady Aurora shot from her seat, almost upsetting her chair. “Sir Killian cannot be dead! I won’t believe it!”

Her face turned pale and she swayed where she stood. Lord Stefan put out a hand to steady her. “Calm yourself, my child. He is simply repeating a rumor.” The lord turned his steely glare on Sir Baelfire, “Aren’t you, good sir?”

Baelfire scowled openly at his host. “No, he’s dead, and I spit upon his name.”

“How dare you!” Lady Aurora shouted, “I would fight you myself if I were a knight!”

“Please, m’lady,” Sir Phillip told her rising to take her elbow tentatively, “I have no doubt you could defend Sir Killian’s honor if you wished, lady or no, but there’s no need. Despite what my friend says, it is naught but hearsay.”

Lady Aurora turned to see the kind eyes of Sir Philip looking upon her with concern. She gave him a tentative smile and allowed him to help her sit once again. Yet the pilgrim, who watched anxiously from his place by the fire, saw the way she wrung her hands in her lap.

Talk of the Crusades were pushed aside when another pair were led into the great hall by Lord Stefan’s servants. As a matter of fact, talk stilled completely at the sight of the pair in their bright, uncommon clothing. One had pushed the cloak of her hood back from her raven hair, and despite her lowly social standing, she met the gaze of every knight who stared at her disparagingly. Everyone knew of Regina, the merchant. Actually, most called her Regina the witch. Though tales of her sorcery stopped no one from buying her wares or seeking her out when someone was ill, for she was also known as a healer. It was a rare thing for a woman to make her own way in the world, and that only cast her in more suspicious light. Thirty-eight and still unwed, the woman had no place in the strict social codes of Anglo-Saxon society.

“Lord,” Baelfire loudly protested, “you don’t mean to shelter these heathens, do you?”

“That is precisely what I plan to do,” Lord Stefan replied sharply, “for do the scriptures not tell us to give shelter to strangers?”

“For in doing so we may be entertaining angels,” Sir Philip supplied.

The pilgrim couldn’t help smirking at the look upon Sir Baelfire’s face, for the cad had received daggers from Lady Aurora’s eyes while Sir Phillip was awarded with a beaming smile from her. The pilgrim chuckled under his breath as he turned to give a nod in greeting to Regina.

Her companion, who was a bit shorter and thinner, knelt beside the fire, extending her slender fingers towards the flame. She rubbed her hands together a few times, then pushed her damp cloak from her head. The pilgrim had to bite his lip lest a gasp escape his throat at the sight of the shimmering gold hair tumbling down the lass’s back. As if she could feel his gaze on her, she turned to look at him with striking green eyes. The smile she gave him wasn’t a shy one in the least, and she held his gaze in a way that well-bred girls never did. Both said that she was well aware of her beauty and the affect it had on men. Yet it wasn’t a look of coquetry, either. In fact, her demeanor shouted _look, but don’t you dare touch!_ It was the look of a woman who knew what a burden beauty could be, especially for a woman of low station.

The blonde gathered her skirts and took a seat at a stool near the hearth. Her gaze flitted to the company of knights, then quickly averted to the plate of food that a servant had brought for her. She narrowed her eyes at the simple repast, her fist clutching her fork in a white-knuckled grip.

The hooded pilgrim glanced towards the banqueting table and saw what had caused her reaction, for the faces of most of the Knights of the Templar were filled with lecherous looks towards the blonde that were far outside the code of chivalry.

The mysterious pilgrim’s fingers itched for his sword once again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our "mysterious pilgrim" reveals his identity to a member of the house of Rosenwood, and he comes to the aid of Regina and Emma.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * CS shippers: hang with me, please. I could have written this so that Sleeping Captain weren't REALLY in love all that much, but I'll warn you, I didn't. First of all, that would be the easy way out as a writer. Secondly, this wouldn't be an Ivanhoe AU if I wrote it that way. Just trust me, okay?  
> * A reminder that this is a world with no magic. So when Killian describes Emma as "bewitching," he doesn't mean that in the literal sense. And yes, Regina is called a witch (and Emma too), but the reasons for that will be revealed slowly.

              After dinner, Lady Aurora slipped from the banqueting hall and ascended the stairs. She held her skirts with one hand as she slowly made her way up, her feet dragging like lead. The weariness that she felt seeped into her very bones. She hated having to smile and graciously accept the admiration and thinly veiled flirting of the knights. She hated being forced to play the part of demure host and proper lady of the house while all the while her heart was tortured. But surely, surely, if Lord Killian were dead, she would know. Somehow, in the depths of her heart, she would know.

              Aurora had only been five when her father had taken Killian and his older brother Liam in as his wards. Killian had been eight. At the time, she hadn’t known of the selfishness and cruelty of their father nor would her innocent, sheltered heart have been able to comprehend such a thing. All she had ever known was love and security. Yet, despite the vast differences between them, she and Killian had become fast friends. Because he had never had any schooling, Killian had his lessons alongside her own (although he quickly surpassed her, having a quick wit and a keen mind). They also both enjoyed spending time at the stables, and Aurora had graciously shared her pony until her father had gotten Killian a horse of his own. They pestered cook for biscuits (Killian’s charms usually working in their favor), teased Liam, and played naughty pranks on their nurse. The castle staff fretted that Killian was a bad influence, but her parents were, on the contrary, delighted. Killian’s arrival had taken their painfully shy, frightened daughter, and caused her to blossom into a vivacious child with a more hearty constitution.

              In hindsight, Aurora now realized that her mother picked up on the subtle change in their relationship long before Aurora herself was able to see it. Aurora was thirteen and Killian sixteen when her mother began to surreptitiously drop hints into their nightly routine. As Lady Briar Rose brushed her daughter’s hair, she would ask about Killian. Wasn’t his Latin pronunciation impeccable? Did Aurora notice how he rode with such regal bearing? Didn’t he look handsome sparring with his brother in the yard?

              Tragedy, however, was what ultimately brought them together. Losing first Aurora’s mother to the plague, and then Liam in the Crusades, had broken them both. Aurora felt now that she had fallen into Killian’s arms, quite literally, in her grief and had never looked back. For in his arms, she felt that nothing could touch her.

              If only her father could see that their love was her strength. But she had been betrothed to Prince James since infancy, and her father was a man steeped in tradition. _Your mother and I learned to love one another_ , Lord Stefan had told her time and again, _and we were virtual strangers on our wedding day._ In his eyes, a man did not go back on his word, and that was that. And most women would consider Aurora lucky that her father was allowing her to spend time with Prince James before they were wed. Yet the more time she spent with the prince, the more concerned she became about his character. And the longer she put him off, the more pressure the prince put on her to choose a wedding date. The rumor that Killian was – Aurora put a hand to her chest and sagged against the wall – dead, would only make Prince James increase the pressure for her to go forward with the wedding. For all she knew, the Prince himself had started the rumor to force her hand.

              Aurora’s weariness only increased under her dark thoughts. As she made her way down the hallway to her chamber, all she could think about was falling into the oblivion of sleep. Suddenly, as she passed a tapestry-covered alcove, an arm reached out and grasped her around the waist. Before she could cry out, a hand clasped her mouth.

              “Am I changed so much?” the dark figure asked. It was the mysterious pilgrim who had taken his repast by the fire. “Do you not recognize me?”

              Aurora wasn’t sure if it was the familiar lilt and timbre of his voice, or the way the light from the nearby wall torch illuminated his eyes, but suddenly she knew.

              “Killian!” she cried with joy. “I _knew_ you were alive!”

              She could feel his joyous smile beneath her lips as he kissed her. Though she wanted to enjoy his kisses, she pulled away. “Let’s go, Killian, quickly! If we leave now, they won’t know we’ve gone till morning light, and then it will be too late.” _Especially if we find a sympathetic friar to marry us_ , she added in her head, but she wasn’t so bold to speak it aloud. But it would solve everything. Her father, and even Prince James, would never go against a holy union consecrated by the church.

              “No, my love,” Killian told her firmly, “I am a knight; it would go against every code I believe in. And you, my dear Aurora, deserve better.”

              Aurora choked out tears, and Killian caught them and wiped them away with his knuckles. She knew he was right, but what if her father and the Prince decided to marry her whether she was ready or not? “I’m so afraid,” she whispered, falling upon his shoulder. He held her close, and once again, she drew strength from his embrace.

              “Trust me, darling, I have a plan. Your father, deep down, loves me as a son. I just have to prove myself to him.”

              Aurora lifted her head to look into the startling blue of Killian’s eyes. “But what of my betrothal?”

              Killian’s jaw clenched and his eyes sparked with anger. “All will be brought to light, I assure you.”

              Aurora furrowed her brow in concern as his eyes darkened in righteous indignation. His words made little sense to her, but her trust in him was still unwavering. The darkness faded from his countenance and the spark returned to his eyes as he drew her close and kissed her again. By the time he bid her goodnight, his smile was once again that confident, playful one she knew so well.

              “Tell no one of my presence here,” he warned her.

              She nodded as she brushed one last kiss to his stubbled cheek and retired to her chamber. Her emotions had run the gamut on this night, so she doubted that sleep would come. But who cared for sleep when Killian was alive and returned home?

                       **************************************************************

              Killian smiled and touched his fingertips to his lips as Aurora slipped around the tapestry and made her way to her chamber. How many dark nights during the Crusades had memories of her kisses warmed him? How often in his journeys did he dream of the feel of her in his arms and awaken with a renewed determination to find his way home? And now she was here, her lips pressed to his, and her softness melting in his embrace. It hadn’t been his plan to reveal himself to her on this night, yet he had been weak. And he also couldn’t bear to see the grief in her eyes when she heard the rumor of his death.

              Killian was just about to slip from his hiding spot and make his way downstairs to find a spot for the night upon the rushes in the dining hall when he heard two boisterous voices. The bawdiness of their tone gave him pause as it seemed out of place on this wing of the castle, which was reserved for ladies. His eyes narrowed; not all knights took their vow of chivalry seriously, but Killian did.

              “A Knight of the Templar planning to charm his way into a lady’s chambers? I would never have imagined such a thing.”

              Killian recognized the voice of the first as one of the Templar squires.

              “I’m not entirely sure you can use the title of _lady_ for Emma. Raised by an unmarried woman, one who makes her own living at that, and rumored to be a witch?” Sir Baelfire laughed in a lecherous tone. “She may let me in without any charms.”

              “Maybe she and Lady Regina make their living on the road in more ways than one, aye?”

              The squire’s insinuations made Killian’s blood boil. Besmearing a lady’s honor in such a way was deplorable. The course language of the two men became less distinct as they made their way down the corridor, but Killian had heard enough. He had to warn the merchant Regina and her ward. Killian had an advantage over Sir Baelfire; this was his home. He knew that Stefan would never allow women of such lowly station to retire in the same part of the castle as noblewomen, but neither would he relegate them to sleeping with the kitchen staff downstairs. Stefan most likely gave his female visitors a chamber on the third floor where the housemaids slept. So Killian slipped out of his hiding place and crept softly to the back stairwell. Sir Baelfire and the squire were too busy laughing and jesting to hear him.

              Having been gone for so long, Killian had trouble remembering which chambers were occupied by Rosenwood servants and which were left empty for guests. When he stopped and knocked at the door at the end of the hall, he worried he might be bothering a chambermaid by mistake. Yet it was Regina’s ward, the lovely Emma Swan, who opened for him. He felt himself rendered momentarily speechless, her beauty once again arresting him as it had downstairs. The candle she held in one hand added to her ethereal appearance, as well as the pure white of her dressing gown. Her brow knit in confusion as she regarded him, and even that expression was enchanting.

              “May I help you?” she asked hesitantly, and only at the sound of her voice was he able to shake himself free of her charms. No, charm was the wrong word. There was nothing about Emma Swan that sought to entangle the opposite sex. Her beauty was simply arresting, which she simply couldn’t help.

              “I apologize, m’lady, for disturbing you at such an hour,” Killian explained, sketching a quick bow, “but I overheard a plot against you and the Lady Regina. You must leave at once.”

              “Lady Regina,” the elder female chuckled sardonically as she joined Emma in the doorway, “few use that title anymore.”

              “Yet you _are_ of noble blood, daughter of Lady Cora and Lord Henry.” He sighed in frustration, running a hand through his hair. “Look, we can argue breeding later. We must get you out of the castle.”

              Lady Regina eyed him critically. “What do you think, Emma?”

              Emma perused him as well, her lips pressed tightly together. “He isn’t lying.”

              The two women shared a glance, then a brief nod. Whatever test they had just put him through, he must have passed, because they immediately turned back to their chamber to gather their things. They each donned a cloak to cover their dressing gowns, and hurried into the hallway. Killian sighed with relief that they didn’t dawdle over trinkets like most ladies. Grabbing a torch from a wall sconce, he led them down the stairwell that led to the kitchen. Only servants would run into them there. Yet, when they were halfway down the stairwell, Emma gasped and stopped.

              “My blanket!” she exclaimed, and without further explanation, she raced back up the stairs.

              “No, Emma, you mustn’t,” Killian cried out, reaching with his arm to stop her, but Regina intercepted him.

              “It’s all she has left of her parents,” she explained, “let her go.”

              Killian opened his mouth to protest, but the words died in his throat as loud protestations and scuffling sounds came from above them.

              “Emma!” Regina called out as she dashed towards the sounds.

              Killian sped past Regina, thrusting his torch in her hands and then pulling his sword free from its scabbard. On the next landing, he saw Emma scuffling with two squires. _So Baelfire sent underlings to do his dirty work._ Killian had no doubt they had been instructed to deliver Emma to Sir Baelfire’s chambers. The thought made his stomach turn. Even if the knight didn’t succumb to his baser desires, Emma’s name would still be forever sullied, and she may even be forced into an unwanted marriage with the lout.

              Despite the seriousness of the situation, Killian couldn’t help smiling when he saw Emma fighting off her attackers. One was already doubled over, clutching his ribs, and Emma was giving the second difficulties as he attempted to pin her arms to her side. Emma stepped to the side, sending her attacker swinging sideways. Killian took the opportunity to yank the squire free of Emma, hitting him with a sucker punch as he whirled around. The squire staggered backwards but still managed to pull his own sword free with a smirk.

              “You’re out of your league, pilgrim.”

              Killian took an offensive stance and gave his opponent a crooked grin of his own. “We shall see, shan’t we?”

              The squire swung, and though his training was of highest quality, it was no match for Killian’s experience. In a matter of seconds, the squire’s sword was sliding across the stone floor, and Killian bashed him in the head with the hilt of his own. As he returned his weapon to the scabbard at his side, he turned to see Emma give her first attacker a punch to the temple. He crumpled to the floor. Emma looked up at him, her breaths ragged. Her blue cloak hung crookedly across one shoulder, exposing the milky white skin above the neckline of her dressing gown. When Killian realized where he was looking, he quickly lifted his gaze to her eyes and the messy waves of gold fluttering around her face. Her jade green orbs didn’t hold fear as he would have expected, but a grim fierceness. She reached down to retrieve a bit of white knitting, embroidered with pink ribbon, that lay in a heap upon the floor.

              “Let’s make haste,” she muttered to him as she turned back towards the stairs.

              He shook his head to clear it, fascinated once again by this bewitching creature, then quickly followed her down the stairs. Regina was there, still grasping the torch, leading the way through the kitchen and out into the grounds. Killian directed her towards the stables where the women’s horses and Regina’s wagon full of goods were stored. Regina tossed back the canvas and gave a sigh of relief.

              “Everything is accounted for,” she breathed out gratefully.

              “The only one of your _goods_ they wanted was me,” Emma told her with bitter sarcasm.

              Killian wanted to argue that Emma was wrong; men didn’t see women as property to be owned and acquired. But alas, he couldn’t make such claims. He had seen too much, especially in the Holy Land, to deny what Emma said.

              Killian helped them saddle the horses and mount, though he could tell that neither really needed it. Then he pressed a leather pouch into Regina’s palm.

              “This will cover a room at the inn down in the village,” he told her, “it’s the least I can do since you have been so cruelly turned out of Rosenwood.”

              He could see the war raging upon the woman’s countenance between pride and practicality. Finally, she gave him a firm nod and shoved the purse into her saddle bag. “You sir, are no pilgrim,” Regina accused with an arch of her eyebrow. Until he noted the tiny smile that cracked her face, he thought she was angry with him. “We owe you our lives. In payment, I would like to sponsor you in the tournament tomorrow. I have a feeling that’s why you’re here anyway.”

              Killian didn’t even attempt to mask the smile that filled his face as he bowed low. “I would be honored, Lady Regina.”

              “You’ll fight under our family crest?” Emma asked as he rose to his feet, her voice slightly incredulous. “As the Red Knight?”

              He turned to her and bowed once again. “On my honor, Lady Emma, and I will do so with great pride.”

              He had yet to see Emma truly smile, but he saw the beginnings of one flirt with the corners of her mouth. “Then if you plan to be our champion, don’t you owe us a name?”

              Killian stepped close to Emma’s brown mare and took her gloved hand in his. He bent over it and kissed it, all the while keeping his eyes locked on Emma’s. “I’m afraid, my lady, that the only name I can give you is this: Desdichado.”

              The light of the moon revealed a slight blush upon her cheeks, and as the two women rode away, he inwardly chastised himself. Killian Jones, who so proudly upheld the code of chivalry, had just flirted with a woman when his heart was pledged to another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * So now you know where the title comes from! If you've read Ivanhoe, you may know what the word means in Latin. If not, that will be revealed in the next chapter.  
> * Coming up next is the tournament!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry that it has been such a long wait for this chapter. I am juggling so much right now, and not just with my writing! I hope this chapter makes it up to all of you. It is the first one where we get Emma's point of view :)

              The tournament grounds held a festive atmosphere, despite the mud from last night’s rain. The spring sun shone down brightly, yet a light breeze kept it from being too hot. The spectator’s chatted in the stands or milled about the grounds purchasing refreshments from the many booths that had been set up. The scents of minced meat pies, gingerbread, roasted pork, and ale all mingled delightfully, tempting the nose and setting stomachs to growling.

Decorative tents dotted the fields surrounding the stands, and the sights and smells here amongst the knights were slightly different. Sir Killian’s nostrils mainly detected the strong scent of horse, and his ears rang with the clanging of metal as mounts were shod and armor was readied. Some knights sparred with their squires, while others spent time in prayer. But the sense that was most overwhelmed here was the sense of sight. Never did the kingdom see such heraldry and bright colors as they did during a tournament.

              Killian walked past tents emblazoned with the family colors of various households: gold and hunter green, bright yellow and pure white, deep russet against a pale blue. Pennants and flags bearing family crests fluttered in the light spring wind. Killian spotted the deep blood red and dark ebony of the House of Mills, and hurried in that direction. Before he reached it, however, a sharp elbow clipped him, sending him spinning around. It was one of the Knights of the Templar, yet he couldn’t recall the man’s name.

              “Look at this, Sir Baelfire,” the man chuckled, “the pilgrim seems to have lost his way.”

              Killian was glad that his hood and cloak still masked his face as Baelfire strode forward, a sneer on his lips. “Aye, Sir William, he must be looking to steal some carrots from the horses.”

              Killian ignored the infantile teasing of the two men, ducking his head further, and making his way through a crowd of heckling Templars. He turned down a pathway between two tents opposite the Mills tent and backtracked. Though they hadn’t recognized him, he still felt it better to keep his performance in the tournament as mysterious as possible. He wished he could get word to Aurora so she could cheer for his colors, but it was much too risky. He glanced about before ducking into the Mill’s tent to be sure no one saw him. Once inside, he turned only to find himself face to face with Emma Swan.

              The lass started as she bumped against him, and Killian instinctually reached out with both hands to steady her. Her left hand rested against his chest, at the v of his shirt. Her long, slender fingers felt warm against his skin. As his eyes adjusted to the shadowed light of the tent, he saw her head tilted up to look at him with eyes the color of the exotic jade he had seen in Arab markets when fighting in the crusades. He shook his head to clear it and chuckled as he took a step back.

              “Pardon me, m’lady, for being so clumsy.”

              She dropped her hand from his chest and brushed a loose tendril of hair from her face. He wondered why she didn’t wear it up as most proper ladies did. Though he couldn’t deny how lovely the golden tresses were as they tumbled about her shoulders.

              Emma cocked one shoulder, tipped her head to the side, then quipped sarcastically, “I hope you aren’t so clumsy inside the lists.”

              Killian laughed again, scratching behind his ear. He tried to think of a witty retort, yet his mind was inexplicably muddled. He glanced down at the shield Emma held in her right hand. He cleared his throat and gestured at it, “I take it this is your family crest?”

              Emma lifted the shield to hold it in both hands. “Not technically, I suppose. I’m merely Regina’s ward, not her daughter.”

              “I know what that’s like,” Killian told her softly, resting his right hand on hers. When she lifted her eyes to his again, they were widened slightly in surprise.

              “You do?”

              “Aye. A wealthy lord took my brother and me in after our mother died. Our father was . . . unable to care for us.”

              Emma narrowed her eyes as she searched his face. “Is that why you go by such a tragic name?”

              Killian arched one brow, impressed with her quick mind and intuition. “The lady knows her languages. And reads people rather well. You know it is not my given name.”

              She shrugged again as she turned and set the shield on a low table. Upon it were the weapons that Killian would ride into the tournament with. In the corner stood a suit of armor. Outside, two of Regina’s servant boys waited to serve as his squires. One was preparing his horse; an impressive stallion of deep brown. Killian moved to stand beside Emma and watched over her shoulder as she gave the shield one final swipe with a polishing rag.

              “Regina made sure I had a proper education. Desdichado is Spanish for unhappy, derived from a Latin word meaning unfortunate one.” She turned to him with her arms crossed. “So tell me, mysterious pilgrim and hapless knight, what misfortunes have befallen you?”

              Killian tore his eyes away from her penetrating gaze and turned to examine the crest upon the shield. He scratched behind his ear as he studied it intently. It would be dangerous to reveal his identity now, and Emma Swan was poking about with her questions.

              “You do that when you’re nervous.”

              Killian blinked rapidly as he lifted his gaze to hers. “Pardon me?”

              She gestured to the side of his head, “Scratching behind your ear. It gives you away.”

              Killian swallowed hard. “A perceptive lass as well.” He sighed deeply. “Can I simply say that I have my reasons for secrecy and leave it at that?”

              She studied him silently for a long moment, then gave a slight nod of her head. “Fair enough.”

              Their eyes held for a moment longer, understanding passing between them, then Killian turned once more to the shield before him. The background was a chevron pattern of blood red and black. The symbol in the foreground was of a tree laden with blood red apples. Entwining the trunk was a bright green snake. Beneath the tree, a hand held a chalice of gold which caught drips of red from the apples.

              “It’s striking,” he breathed, tracing the images with his finger, “and incredibly unique. What do these symbols represent?”

              Emma leaned forward, her upper arm brushing against his chest as she gestured with her hand. “This tree symbolizes knowledge.”

              “Like the tree of the knowledge of good evil. In Eden.”

              She turned to him, her eyes alight, “Precisely. And thus the snake – “

              “Temptation.”

              He hadn’t meant for it to slip from his lips in quite that way – a bit thready and husky. A blush bloomed on Emma’s cheeks, and when she ducked her head to focus once again upon the crest, her hair fell like a curtain between them.

              “Aye,” she continued, “and the chalice represents redemption.”

              “Oh, I see,” Killian broke in, relieved to hear his voice returned to normal, “like the cup of wine at mass.”

              Emma smiled brightly at him as she stood, nodding her head. Were educated knights as rare as educated ladies? It hadn’t been that way in Lord Stefan’s dominion, but his times in the Crusades had shown him what a rare breed learned men were. Did Emma have as little patience with ignorance as he did? She certainly seemed delighted at his breadth of knowledge. He wet his lips as his eyes looked over the crest again. He hefted the shield in his left hand then slid his arm into it, testing its weight.

              “But what does it mean?” he asked.

              A slow smile filled Emma’s face, and a softness overtook her expression as she spoke, her eyes becoming distant. “It means there is darkness in all of us. We are all tempted to succumb to it. Yet there is also light. We can choose. Always. It is never too late for redemption.”

              She jutted her chin out slightly as she seemed to come back to the present. She drilled him with her intense gaze as if defying him to contradict the sentiment. Killian simply nodded his head.

              “No greater truth was ever spoken.”

                            ****************************************************

              Lady Aurora felt as if she were sitting on a pincushion. She fidgeted restlessly, her eyes scanning the lists for any glimpse of Killian. She felt that surely he meant to prove himself here. Her hands alternated between worrying the fabric of her gown and twisting the handkerchief that rested in her lap.

              “Is the fair lady that nervous in my presence?”

              Prince James’s breath fanned against her cheek as he leaned over to whisper the word in her ear. She forced herself not to cringe or lean away from him. Yet, when she answered, she looked straight ahead, not wanting to encourage the Prince’s blatant flirting. And with her father sitting right next to her!

              “I simply am eager to see the tournament get underway. I have always enjoyed them so. Isn’t that right, father?”

              She turned to him, and Lord Stefan smiled, squeezed her hand, then lifted it to brush it with a kiss. “Aye, my child. You even used to watch Liam and Killian in the practice yard when they were squires.”

              Aurora laughed merrily at the memory. “I would even toss my handkerchief to the victor.”

              Stefan chuckled in reply, and it made Aurora’s heart sore. He was mentioning Killian not only without scowling, but with actual fondness! “I remember, my sweet. Your mother and the castle seamstress were always lamenting at how many you ruined.”

              “And Killian got in trouble with the gardener for making me a rose garland to crown me the queen of love and beauty, remember father?”

              She had pushed too far. She realized this fact too late. A dark cloud fell across her father’s face, and Prince James scowled openly. He narrowed his eyes as he perused her face, and Aurora felt as if cold fingers clutched her about the neck. The Prince’s looks towards her were often so . . . possessive, it made her blood turn to ice in her veins. Yet when she mentioned her concerns to her father, he had brushed them off. “There is nothing wrong with a man wanting his betrothed to belong to him and him alone, Aurora.” Her father’s answer saddened her. She didn’t want to “belong” to anyone as if she were a horse or a plot of land. She wanted a partner, a friend, to be her soul mate and walk with her through life side by side. When she expressed these feelings to her father, he laughed gently as if she were still a child. The way he used to when she showed him the little houses she built for the fairies in the flower garden.

              “Aurora,” Prince James said, taking her hand gently in his, “I would like for you to come spend the summer at my castle. These brief visits have not afforded me sufficient opportunities for courtship. And a summer wedding would be lovely, don’t you think?”

              Aurora wanted so badly to tear her hand free of Prince James’s grip, and her heart thudded a panicked rhythm in her chest. Blast Killian and his good form! If the prince got her to his castle, she doubted he would spend much time with “courtship.” He would have them wed before the May pole was festooned, she knew this deep in her heart. She lifted her gaze to the Prince’s face; his blue eyes were dark with barely concealed desire. Of the basest kind. His smile, which many a lady found charming, seemed to her a lecherous sneer. And the sharp angles of his chin and jaw hinted at barely restrained violence. Why could her father not see these things? She swallowed hard and pasted a falsely flirtatious smile upon her face. She batted her lashes coyly and ducked her head bashfully.

              “The Prince honors me greatly with such an invitation,” she said softly. “Yet I so look forward to our summer home each holiday. It was the last place my mother was well, you see, and I had a memorial planned for June. I would much rather spend winter in your castle, your highness. I have heard how warm and inviting it is in the bitter months, and I think a Christmas wedding would be simply magical.”

              “A wonderful idea, Aurora!” her father exclaimed in sheer delight. He had been waiting, rather impatiently, for her to agree to a wedding date. She could have picked a day three years hence, and he would have practically turned cartwheels. “What could be more holy than sharing vows on Christ’s mass?”

              The Prince scowled, yet only for a brief moment. He schooled his features as he gave her father a false smile and nod. “Aye sir, none would.”

              “But that doesn’t mean you can’t join us at Misthaven Castle for the summer.”

              Aurora withered slightly in her seat at her father’s invitation. The Prince cleared his throat nervously. “It would be difficult for me to get away for the entire summer, but I’ll see what I can do.”

              Aurora let out a relieved breath at Prince James’s lack of enthusiasm. Then the bugle sounded announcing the beginning of the tournament. She sat up eagerly and leaned forward as the knights lined up along the lists. If Killian came out the victor today, she wouldn’t have to worry about a wedding coming this June or the following December.

              She would marry Killian, however, tomorrow if given her way.

                            *******************************************************

              Emma strained forward in her seat next to Regina as her eyes scanned the row of knights along the lists, waiting to be announced. Their knight – Sir Desdichado – was near the center of the group. She kept fiddling with her fingers as they rested in her lap, and her heart thudded a bit in her chest. She tried to admonish herself that she was acting like a silly, empty-headed girl, but her heart refused to listen to her head. First one knight, then another was announced until Sir Desdichado was guiding his mount along the lists. The master of ceremonies announced him as well as the colors and family crest he was competing under. Like every knight before him, Sir Desdichado lifted a single red rose as he neared the section of the stands reserved for the house he was representing. Unlike every other knight, however, he didn’t bring the rose to his lips and kiss it, for he already wore his helmet with the visor down.

              Despite this, he easily tossed the rose to Emma, as tradition dictated, and Emma made her way to the edge of the lists with the scarves of crimson and ebony, representing her family’s colors. Emma leaned over to tie the scarves around Sir Desdichado’s upper arm, her golden hair falling across his armor and contrasting with the bright gleam of the metal in the bright sun of late morning. She found herself longing to look into those impossibly blue eyes of his. The ones that had struck her immediately beside the fire at Rosenwood Castle. She also wasn’t able, because of his helmet, to bestow a kiss upon his cheek as the other ladies had done. Emma couldn’t deny that she was slightly disappointed.

              “Are you warm, my dear?” Regina asked with a quirk of one eyebrow as Emma resumed her seat.

              “No, the weather is quite pleasant,” Emma answered, brushing at invisible lint on her dress.

              “Oh,” Regina continued, biting back a chuckle, “your cheeks are flushed. I naturally assumed the sun was too harsh for you.”

              Emma scowled openly, which only caused Regina to laugh merrily. Emma pretended to find the first joust incredibly fascinating, scolding herself as she felt even more heat rise up her neck.

              Sir Desdichado quickly had the crowds murmuring. No one knew who he was or where he came from, and as he won joust after joust, everyone’s curiosity rose. He then quickly defeated first Sir William and then Sir Phillip in hand to hand combat, whipping the crowd into a frenzy as the defeated knights limped from the field.

              “He fights not only with skill, but finesse,” Regina commented, then her dark eyes shifted to Prince James, seated on the opposite side of the arena. “Yet Prince James doesn’t seem pleased.”

              Emma followed Regina’s line of sight. She was right. The Prince’s face was red and his eyes were narrowed to thin slits, his eyebrows forming a v shape upon his brow. His gaze brightened somewhat as the next knight came forward to do battle with Sir Desdichado: Sir Baelfire, who wore the red and white of the Templar knights. This was not surprising, since his father was current Grand Master.

              Where their knight fought with finesse, Sir Baelfire fought with sheer brute force. Emma found herself on the edge of her seat, biting her lip as the fight wore on, first favoring one knight, then the other. Yet eventually, Sir Bealfire was on his back, the tip of Sir Desdichado’s sword to his throat. Being a knight of honor, Desdichado then extended a hand to help the defeated knight up.

              “I would have gone for the death stroke,” Regina seethed under her breath.

              “Regina! How can you say such a thing?”

              “I’m telling you, Emma, there’s more that is going on here than just a tournament. I don’t think Sir Baelfire or Prince James will allow our knight to continue dominating the field. And if they need to play dirty, they will.”

              Emma hoped Regina was wrong as she turned nervous eyes back to the yard. Sir Desdichado knelt before Lord Stefan and Prince James as the clear winner in one on one, hand to hand combat. He had defeated every knight who had challenged him, then had defeated Sir Baelfire who had defeated a trio of knights himself. Lord Stefan gestured to his daughter, who stood with a rose and a white linen handkerchief in her hand. Yet before she could toss the items to the victor, Sir James stood and made a slashing motion with his hand. Emma leaned forward and held her breath.

              “As Prince, and current ruler of England in my brother’s stead, I ask for a melee to determine the tournament winner!”

              A cheer rose up from the crowd, yet Emma felt a knot of nerves form in the pit of her stomach. She looked nervously over at Regina, whose lips were set in a firm line, worry creasing her forehead.

              “Normans versus Saxons!”

              An even louder cheer rose up, almost manic in its intensity. Emma reached over and grasped Regina’s hand nervously. Prince James quickly chose the knights for each side, and Emma frowned.

              “He’s stacked it in the Normans’ favor!”

              “I know,” Regina agreed, “and our own Sir Desdichado is really the only strong fighter for the Saxons.”

              Emma worried her lower lip as the two sides lined up on the field. She hated melees, which were mock battles. Although, the “mock” part was sometimes ignored by the fighters involved. With loud cries, the group of Normans and Saxons charged at one another, and swords were soon clashing with loud reverberations. Lady Aurora seemed just as nervous as Emma, standing with her fist to her mouth, her face pale. Cries soon punctuated the air, and blood stained the dirt between the lists. Squires hurried to pull the wounded from the field before they were slaughtered. Soon, the only Saxon left was Sir Desdichado, who fought valiantly. Yet he was facing four Norman knights, who were fighting with little honor. Many in the stands stood to their feet, shouting for Prince James to put an end to the melee.

              “This isn’t a tournament,” Regina bit out, “This is a bloodbath.”

              Tears pricked at Emma’s eyes as her knight struggled once again to his feet. Spectators continued to cry out for mercy, yet Prince James was lounging in his brocaded chair, a smirk upon his face. Sir Baelfire advanced upon Sir Desdichado as he stumbled to one knee. With complete lack of honor or chivalry, Sir Baelfire kicked his opponent in the ribs, then continued kicking as Sir Desdichado rolled to his side in the dirt. His visor flew open, and Sir Bealfire took the opportunity to kick dirt into his opponent’s eyes. Emma surged to her feet, joining the boos leveled at Sir Baelfire.

              Suddenly, a horse galloped into the arena, decked in nothing but black, with a symbol of a simple bow and arrow its only crest. This black knight slid from his mount and rushed to Desdichado’s side. Then, back to back, the two knights faced their Norman opponents, who encircled them like rabid wolves. The arrival of the mysterious black knight seemed to renew Desdichado’s vigor. With a cry the two raised their swords and swung at their opponents.

              “These two have fought together before,” Regina commented.

              As Emma watched, she felt she agreed. They anticipated each other’s movements and seemed to communicate without words. Their styles were vastly different, yet complimentary. And soon they stood victorious upon the field of battle. The Black Knight clapped his fellow warrior upon the shoulder, then quickly mounted his horse. Then, as quickly as he had appeared, the mysterious avenger was gone.

              As the Norman wounded were carried from the field, Sir Desdichado made his way once again to stand before Lord Stefan and Lady Aurora. His gait seemed off, and his left armed seemed to be hanging at an odd angle. Emma pursed her lips in concern. With what seemed like great effort, he sank to one knee before the Lord and Lady, pressing his right fist against his heart. Yet once again, Prince James interrupted Lady Aurora before she could toss her favors.

              “Before this knight can be crowned the victor,” the Prince announced in a booming voice, “I must insist that he remove his helmet. He is the only knight who has refused to reveal his face.” Prince James looked down upon the Saxon knight with disdain. “And I doubt his name is truly _Desdichado_.”

              Again, with more effort than should have been necessary, Desdichado stood to his full height. With slow movements, he reached up to tug at his helmet. The entire grandstand seemed to hold its collective breath as the helmet was lifted. When the knight’s face was revealed, a shocked gasp rippled through the crowd. Lady Aurora’s face lit with joy as Desdichado’s true name tumbled from her lips, loud enough for all to hear.

              “Killian!”

              Instantly, the crowds were chattering like magpies. _He isn’t dead after all! Where has he been all this time? What will Lord Stefan do?_ Emma felt her head spin at the revelation, and she wondered that she hadn’t thought of it sooner. It all made sense. He was Lord Stefan’s disinherited ward, cast out of Rosenwood for loving Lady Aurora, the betrothed of Prince James.

              “Sir Killian!” Lord Stefan bellowed. “How dare you return to my dominion, and with subterfuge!”

              The crowds seemed to lean forward as one, awaiting the knight’s response. Yet the victor merely swayed where he stood. Lady Aurora’s face paled, and she gave a sudden cry as she hurried from the stands and crossed the lists. When she reached her lover’s side, he crumpled against her, and both fell to the dirt.

              Emma was on her feet in an instant, dashing across the field of battle, Regina at her heels. As she neared, she could see Lady Aurora’s tear-stained face as she shouted, trembling, “He’s wounded! Help! Someone help him!”

              Emma slid to her knees in the dirt when she reached Sir Killian’s side, not caring the least about her red velvet gown. She yanked at her gloves as her eyes met Lady Aurora’s.

              “We are healers,” she explained simply, gesturing at Regina behind her.

              “Can you help him?” Aurora sobbed.

              Emma barely heard her tear-filled words as she cupped Sir Killian’s face in her hands, brushing the sweaty black hair from his pale brow. Once again, she wished she could see his piercing blue eyes. Blinking back tears of her own, she looked into Lady Aurora’s eyes.

              “I will do everything I can to save this noble knight,” Emma vowed, “I swear it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * So who was the mysterious Black Knight? Any guesses?  
> * Coming up next, Emma and Regina set out for their manor with Killian so they can nurse him back to health. Yet don't expect anything to be simple - there are people plotting behind the scenes. Duh, duh, duh ......


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: I have never written Neal/Baelfire in a positive light. Ever. But, in this story he is more than an insensitive jerk. He's a villain. Straight up, evil villain. And this is just the beginning . . . Don't say I didn't warn you!

              Sir Killian groaned, his facial features settling into deep lines of distress as the carriage bumped over a rut in the road. The rains had carved deep gulleys into the already ill-kept roadways, making travel to Mills Manor ten times more difficult. Killian’s head lolled, and a moan escaped his lips, yet he was only partially conscious. Emma shifted closer, allowing his head to rest upon her lap.

              “Shhh,” she whispered soothingly, brushing a long dark lock off his forehead. His eyelashes fluttered against the apples of his cheeks, and the lines marring his forehead eased a bit. Encouraged by his response, Emma continued brushing his hair and speaking softly to him. His breathing evened out, and he fell asleep again, mostly under the influence of the belladonna they had given him earlier. It was a powerful herb, and it was why Regina had insisted that Emma stay by his side. The women used it often enough, especially with patients like this one with severe injuries, but in high enough doses it was poisonous.

              Once Killian was fulling asleep, Emma lifted his shirt to check on his most severe injury, a deep cut to his lower abdomen. She noticed that the cloth was soaked through with blood and changed it out for a new one. Her hand lingered on the muscular planes of his torso a bit longer than necessary. Emma didn’t even fully realize what she was doing until Killian shifted position. She started and glanced at his face, her own burning with embarrassment. But the knight simply slept on, his chest rising and falling.

Emma shook her head at her own foolishness and leaned back against the side of the carriage. She should move him instead of letting him sleep on her lap. And she definitely shouldn’t be admiring the handsome planes of his face or his aristocratic nose, or noting the pleasant feel of his stubble against her palm as she checked him for fever. She shouldn’t be deriving so much pleasure from running her fingers through his hair, either, or noting how soft it was. Sir Killian’s heart belonged to Lady Aurora, and the attraction Emma felt for him could only lead to her own heartbreak.

              Attraction was easily felt and thus easily cast aside. At least, that’s what Emma told herself. It meant nothing substantial.

              The carriage jolted again and tipped crazily to one side. Emma clutched Sir Killian around the shoulders as she pitched sideways, bracing one hand against the bottom of the carriage to keep him from being jostled too much. He reached up and grabbed her arm, pulling it tighter around himself. Emma’s heart pitched even more than the carriage.

              “Aurora,” he muttered. He was still asleep.

              Emma eased him onto the pile of blankets they had made for him and scrambled as far as possible from him. She pulled her knees to her chest, her heart pounding as she watched him continue to sleep, evidently unaware that it was she, and not the Lady Aurora who had been embracing him. The belladonna could also cause hallucinations, and Emma prayed fervently that it was doing so in this case. She didn’t want Sir Killian to ever know that he had held her for a brief moment thinking she was someone else.

                             ***************************************************

              Lord Stefan’s household was in the midst of frenzied, excited preparations for the move from Rosenwood, the winter castle, to their summer castle, Misthaven. Lady Aurora, however, just wasn’t into the festive mood. Not only was her heart heavy with worry concerning Killian’s injuries, but the summer castle itself was filled with childhood memories that the two of them had shared. She could hear his laughter echoing in every hall, could see his dark hair in her mind’s eye bent over his horse in the stables, could feel his hand in hers as she strolled along the edge of Misthaven’s small lake.

              Deep in her reminiscence, Aurora found herself wandering to the stables. Her father’s stablehands were bustling everywhere, packing up tack and feed while others saddled the horses for the journey. Her own horse, Merriweather, was in the last stall. The light brown mare tossed her head and whinnied with delight as Aurora approached. She fed the horse a carrot, then bent her head against the animal’s neck, burying her face in her mane. Her mind fled back, just before Killian left for the Crusades. They had snuck off on Merriweather for a picnic by the lake, and it was there that Killian pledged his love. Just as their lips had met, her father had burst upon the scene. By dawn, Killian had been tossed out, disowned, and warned never to return to either Rosenwood or Misthaven.

              “Lady Aurora?”

              Aurora started at the sound of the masculine voice. She hurriedly wiped at her tears and schooled her features before turning to see Sir Phillip standing cautiously in the barnyard door. The man ducked his head a bit bashfully.

              “My apologies, m’lady,” he told her hurriedly, his eyes widening slightly as he seemed to notice her tear-stained cheeks, “I didn’t mean to intrude. I just saw you walk in here, and you seemed . . . sad.”

              The young man drew close, and his concerned expression was so sincere, that Aurora couldn’t help giving him a wobbly smile. “You are quite observant, dear knight.” Unsure what else to say, Aurora picked up a brush and turned to run it across Merriweather’s coat. Behind her, Sir Philip shuffled his feet and cleared his throat nervously.

              “I will go, if you wish.”

              Aurora paused in her brushing. Sir Philip was so different from the other Knights of the Templar; gentle in his speech and, from what little she had observed, genuinely honorable in his ideals. “You may stay,” she replied softly. “I could use help getting her saddled.”

              She saw Philip nod briefly out of the corner of her eye. He then moved to the other side of the barn to get a saddle blanket. Merriweather sidestepped a bit when he approached, but the horse quickly calmed under Philip’s soothing voice.

              “The lady is worried about Sir Killian,” Philip finally remarked.

              Aurora lifted her head in slight surprise. Sir Philip’s attraction to her the past few days had not escaped her notice. Yet here he was, bringing up a man who was clearly competition for her affections. Unless, of course, he cared only for her hand and not her heart. Despite his kind nature, he was still a man, and this was still the twelfth century. Not sure what to say, Aurora merely nodded.

              “You and the knight were friends since childhood?”

              “Yes,” Aurora answered simply, concentrating on her brushstrokes.

              “I am sure, then, that you know of his hearty constitution. I saw him fight valiantly in the Holy Land. He will come through this, rest assured.”

              Aurora’s brushing stilled completely in shock. She turned and found Philip’s back to her, hoisting up a saddle for her horse. When he turned towards her again, he was smiling. Aurora smiled back. He lifted the saddle onto the mare’s back, then Aurora helped him tighten the straps. She bit her lip as Philip finished the job, wishing to give him a bit of kindness in some way for his encouraging words.

              “Thank you,” she finally said hoarsely, “most of your fellow order can’t see past Killian’s Saxon blood.”

              “Don’t mind Sir Baelfire,” Philip protested with a wave of his hand, “he isn’t such a bad fellow, just blusters a bit because of his father. Being the son of the head of the order means he’s under a lot of pressure. He was jealous of Sir Killian and the attention he received from the king. That’s all.”

              “The king!” Aurora exclaimed, leaning forward eagerly. She had barely had a moment with Killian, and he hadn’t had time to tell her any details of his adventures.

              “Aye,” Philip nodded, eyes bright as if remembering their monarch with awe, “they fought as brothers. I didn’t rise to the rank of Knight as recently as some of the others, so I didn’t see as many of their exploits, but tales of their battles were the thing of legend.”

              Aurora took a step closer, her voice lowering to a whisper. “Do you believe the rumors? The ones that say the King will never return?”

              Sir Philip’s features became hard and fierce, “Those that say such things are a traitor to both king and country, in my opinion. King David won’t leave England at the cruel hand of his brother much longer, mark my words.”

              Philip blanched suddenly, realizing what he had said. “My apologies, m’lady, I didn’t mean to speak ill of your betrothed.”

              Aurora frowned, “There is no need, Sir Philip, I assure you. Something is not right about Prince James. I don’t trust him, and truth be told, have no wish to be his bride.”

              Aurora gasped as her face flamed red. She hurriedly turned to her horse and pretended to check the bit and bridle. How could she have spoken so forthrightly to a man who was practically a stranger? She struggled to think of something to say to fix her complete lack of propriety, but her brain was completely addled. Philip stepped closer, his chest practically at her back. He leaned close, his breath ghosting against the shell of her ear.

              “If it were within my power, m’lady, you would have nothing less than your heart’s desire. That’s all I want for you.”

              His words combined with his close proximity, made the blood pound in Aurora’s temple. He said nothing else, made no move to touch her. Once his declaration was delivered, he simply turned and strode from the stables, leaving Aurora there, her hand pressed to her racing heart.

                            *****************************************************

              Sir Philip strode away from the stables with quick steps, as if he could outrun the words that had just slipped from his lips. What had he been thinking? He had just made a romantic declaration to Lady Aurora. Lady Aurora! Prince James held her hand in marriage. Sir Killian, famed knight of the Crusades, held her heart. What could Philip be thinking, letting himself fall so completely in love with a lady like her?

              And yet he had, wholly and completely. Her beauty addled his brain and left him scrambling for words, her flowery, feminine scent intoxicated him and left his knees weak. The sound of her voice, the brightness of her smile, and the feel of her soft skin were the images that haunted his dreams. God help him, dreams that were sometimes far from proper.

              “Well, if it isn’t Sir Philip, forlorn in his unrequited love.”

              Philip started, then let out a long breath of relief when he saw Sir Baelfire leaning casually in the doorway to the kitchen. “I don’t know what you’re babbling on about,” he snapped at his comrade, continuing his march across the yard.

              Baelfire fell in step beside him, tossing a half-eaten apple heedlessly aside. He flung an arm across the younger man’s shoulder. “I too am in agony due to a beguiling, yet elusive female. But I have a plan for wooing said female, a plan I have already set into motion.”

              Philip stepped to the side, out from under Bealfire’s arm. “And you’re telling me this because . . .”

              “Because I can let you in on it!”

              Philip pressed his lips together as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Wooing Lady Aurora isn’t possible. She is betrothed. To _Prince James_.”

              Baelfire shrugged. “And Prince James would not want – how should I put this? Used property.”

              The blood drained from Philip’s face as he clenched his fists, “If you are implying that I should violently strip Lady Aurora of her virtue, then I am shocked –“

              “Stop, stop!” Baelfire chuckled, raising both hands to stop Philip’s irate string of words. “You’re jumping to conclusions. I am merely suggesting that if Lady Aurora spends some time with you, alone – innocently, mind you – you may find two mutually beneficial results. Lady Aurora falls madly in love with you, the knight who rescued her, and Prince James willingly breaks his betrothal when he hears that his once pure bride has been forced to spend the night in the woods with a man. Alone.”

              White, blinding rage surged through Philip, and before he realized himself, he had Sir Baelfire pinned against the opposite wall. “What have you done?”

              Baelfire just smiled wickedly, not seeming concerned in the least that Sir Philip had his hands about his throat. Philip realized a moment too late why – the remaining knights of the Templar had surrounded him, their swords drawn.

              “What have you all done?” Philip cried out again, his grip on Bealfire loosening slightly.

              “Right about now,” Baelfire told him, “a carriage transporting a couple of witches and their wounded knight is breaking a wheel. Not far behind them will be Lord Stefan and his entourage. When they stop to assist the broken carriage, a certain band of outlaws will attack. Lord Stefan won’t make it, I’m afraid, nor will poor Sir Killian. And Emma Swan? She will be mine.”

              Philip drew his sword, though he had a sinking feeling this day might be his last. “And what of Lady Aurora?”

              Baelfire laughed, glancing around the circle of Templars, and the rest joined in, their laughter leveled at Sir Philip as if he were a naïve page boy. “Well, I was going to offer her to you, but since you refused . . . well, I have someone who will pay handsomely for her.”

              “I will die before I let you do such a thing!” Philip screamed with rage as he lunged towards Sir Baelfire. He managed to wound a few of his former company before he was relieved of his weapon and shoved to his knees. He looked boldly into Sir Baelfire’s face. “I will face my Lord and Savior with a pure conscience, and I pray he will smite you for your base and vile actions.”

              Baelfire arched a brow as he raised his sword. “You won’t be meeting anyone, my boy.” And with that, he smashed the hilt of his sword into the back of Sir Philip’s head. Sheathing his sword, Sir Baelfire turned to the rest of the Knights of the Templar. “To your horses, men. I will have what I have longed for these many sleepless nights, and we will all have our purses filled with gold!”

              The knights all cheered, then took off for their horses. Baelfire stepped over the prostrate form of Sir Philip with nary a backwards glance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Philip takes the place of deBracy in this, for those of you familiar with Ivanhoe. In the original, deBracy goes along with the plan to kidnap Rowena and Rebecca, but stops things when the knights attempt to kill Rowena's father. Or at least, that's the cliff notes' version :) Anyway, I was going to have Philip do the same originally, but as I was writing it, that just didn't fit with his character. For that reason and several others, this is where things will begin to diverge tremendously from the storyline of Ivanhoe.  
> * I know it was about a month - again - between updates on this story, and I am so sorry! However, I am now down to two WIP, so from here on out I'm going to be updating Operation Middlemist and this one every two weeks.  
> * Coming up next: will Philip come-to in time to stop Sir Baelfire and the rest of the knights?


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a lot of Sleeping Captain, but we’re still early in the story, so just hang with me. Although I have to admit, the opening flashback was pretty fun to write. Maybe I shouldn’t have watched all those clips of Sarah and Colin on the Tudors . . . Okay, okay, calm down. Ya’ll know me. CS is endgame!

_The blue sky above was a bright azure, and a pleasant breeze brushed against Aurora’s skin. But she was far more mesmerized by the azure color of the eyes gazing into hers and far more thrilled by the calloused fingers brushing against her knuckles. She was lying on her back, and she was supposed to be finding shapes in the clouds above like she used to as a little girl, but she was gazing instead into Killian’s face. He had rolled over on his side to face her, propped up on his left arm, his right hand reaching across her waist to tangle his fingers with hers. He leaned down and brushed a light kiss to her lips, and she laughed merrily. Killian then sat up, tugging her with him, a slight blush upon his cheeks. He was very serious about his knightly vow to guard the chastity of ladies. Still, he didn’t release her hand._

_He fell silent, his thumb still drawing circles on the back of her hand. He wanted to say something, she could tell, but long experience from their childhood had taught her to wait patiently. Pushing him never worked. He picked up a grape from their long-forgotten picnic and rolled the round fruit between his thumb and forefinger. He never did eat it._

_“I leave on the morrow,” he finally said._

_Aurora tilted her head, a smile teasing her lips, “Aye. That’s why we slipped away.” Her face fell as she thought about what it meant for him to fight in the Crusades. Liam did the same, after all, and never returned. She let out a shaky breath, but didn’t speak. Killian caught her eye, and she saw clearly that she didn’t have to say a word. He already knew._

_“Aurora,” he said, shifting closer, “I lay awake last night, going back and forth with myself about whether or not to be honest with you –“_

_She interrupted him by grasping both of his hands, “You must always be honest with me, Killian. Whatever is in your heart, I long to hear it.”_

_He smiled, although there was sadness behind it. He reached out and brushed at a tendril of hair that framed her face. “My future is uncertain, so perhaps it is unfair of me to ask this of you. But I love you, Aurora. Would you accept my proposal of marriage?”_

_Aurora’s heart leapt in her chest. How many nights had she wept, longing to hear those words from him? But his sense of honor was so strong, she had accepted that he would likely never voice his feelings. And now . . ._

_She swallowed down the fear that crested in her along with her elation. With trembling voice she told him, “I love you too, Killian. I have probably been much too bold in my affections.”_

_Killian chuckled and lifted her chin so her eyes could meet his. “Never. You have always been nothing but a proper lady.”_

_Aurora’s eyes darted from his earnest expression. “But I am betrothed, Killian . . . “ She let her voice trail off, her throat suddenly growing dry._

_Killian must have sensed her distress, for he reached out and drew her close in his embrace. His hand stroked her hair as she tucked her face into the crook of his neck._

_“What do women want most of all?” he whispered into her ear._

_Aurora pulled back, a confused expression upon her face. He simply nodded slightly, his crooked smile and arched brow encouraging her to answer. Aurora’s brow furrowed as she looked past his shoulder, to the distant hills beyond the borders of her father’s estate._

_“I suppose,” she began, her voice tremulous, the answer feeling almost forbidden even as it beat in her breast, “what women want most is to choose their own way.”_

_She pulled herself back to the present moment to look into Killian’s eyes. His expression was strangely intense, his jaw visibly clenching. “I would make arranged marriages illegal if I had the power.” He then shook his head slightly and gave a wry chuckle, seeming to remember himself._

_Aurora’s eyes widened at the passion in his voice. “People argue that loving parents will choose well for their children.”_

_Killian’s blue eyes darkened to an almost stormy gray. “And children with selfish parents? What of them?” He swallowed hard and took a deep breath. He took her hands in his, staring at them intently for a moment. When he finally spoke, it was with a gentler, yet still intense emotion. “And your father claims to love you, does he not?”_

_Aurora glanced away, tears gathering in her eyes. Killian gently took her chin in his hand and turned her to look at him again._

_“What do **you** want, Aurora?”_

_A single tear slipped down her cheek, and Killian caught it with his thumb. “I want **you**.”_

_He grinned broadly, then cupped her cheek and kissed her tenderly. When he pulled back, he whispered, “Is that a yes?”_

_Aurora couldn’t speak around the lump in her throat, so she simply nodded enthusiastically. Killian showed his understanding by leaning forward and kissing her again. They had kissed before today; stolen ones mostly in the stables or behind the tapestry in the banquet hall. But this was the first time they were really and truly alone. Emboldened by this, Aurora tilted her head to deepen the kiss. But before she could get truly lost in it, a loud shout broke into their tender moment. The horse tied to a tree nearby reared and snorted as Aurora spun around with a gasp._

_“Daddy!”_

_Lord Stefan reached down and grasped her by the elbow, hauling her to her feet. He held her so tightly, she cried out in pain. Killian jumped to his feet, both hands held out in front of him in a placating gesture._

_“My Lord, I promise you, Aurora is safe with me.”_

_Aurora could barely recognize her father, his face was so contorted with rage. He shook her as he spoke. “Safe with you! Did I or did I not see you kiss my daughter?”_

_Killian ducked his head, his face flaming red. “Aye, sir.” Then he lifted his head boldly, straightening his shoulders as he held himself like a true knight. “I love your daughter, and I intend to marry her when I return home from battle.”_

_“WHAT? Have you lost your senses, boy? She’s betrothed to Prince James.” Aurora’s father began to shake her again, and as he spoke, her heart sank further and further. “She belongs to him, and yet you are out here fawning all over her. What would the prince do if he knew about this?”_

_Killian caught Aurora’s eyes, and the look he gave her broke her heart. Then he looked sternly at her father. “Aurora belongs to no one. I wish to be her partner in life. Will Prince James give her that?”_

_Her father tilted his head back and roared with laughter. “I knew you were naïve, Killian, but I underestimated how much. You really believe all that courtly love nonsense that the troubadours spout? Men do not wed to have a life partner. Marriage is about alliances and blood lines. Do you really think I will let my daughter align herself with one of my slaves?”_

_Aurora tried to bite back her gasp as her father spit out that final word. “Daddy!” she shouted, tearing free from his grip. “How dare you? Killian has been a son to you!”_

_Stefan ignored his daughter as he stalked into Killian’s personal space. “My wife begged me to intervene when your father sold you and your brother to that merchant sailor. I paid a pretty penny for the two of you.”_

_Killian’s face paled as he shook his head in disbelief. “That’s not true.”_

_“Oh, but it is,” Stefan bit out cruelly, “my wife insisted on doting on the two of you. She had a soft spot, you know. Didn’t want to treat you as the slaves you were.” Stefan turned wild eyes then on his daughter, shoving his finger in her face, “And it was my silly wife who put romantic ideas in this one’s head. Well, she’s gone now, and it’s time the two of you grew up. This childish infatuation ends now.”_

_“No,” Aurora cried as her father reached out to grab her. She ran to Killian, weeping, throwing her arms around him. “I love Killian, father!”_

_Stefan yanked her away from her lover’s arms, bodily lifting her slight frame off the ground and practically flinging her across the saddle of his horse. Aurora always thought her father loved her, but right now she felt more like his property. He turned to Killian, reaching out and violently ripping the family crest from Killian’s tunic._

_“You are no longer part of this family. I hereby banish you from both Rosenwood and Misthaven Castles. If you are caught on my grounds, I will toss you in the dungeon to rot.”_

_As her father galloped away, Aurora could barely make out Killian’s forlorn figure on the top of the hill. Her tears were so thick, he was but a dark smudge upon the green hillside._

******************************************************

“Are you well, my daughter?”

Aurora started at the sound of her father’s voice. His tender words were in such stark contrast to the memory in her mind’s eye, that she blinked several times as if she didn’t recognize him. Lord Stefan smiled at her with what seemed genuine concern in his eyes. He father confused her. He seemed to truly care for her well-being, had always doted on her, and would give her anything her heart desired.

Except the right to choose her own husband.

She sighed deeply. She supposed it was naïve of her to expect differently. It was the way things were done, as her father constantly told her.

“I’m fine, father,” she told him dutifully. It wasn’t as if he would welcome the truth. That her heart was broken. That she worried constantly about Killian and his injuries. That her stomach revolted against the idea of marrying Prince James. She could tell him none of this.

“Fatigued of the journey I’d wager,” her father told her with a smile. “You can always ride in the carriage if you wish.”

The carriage was a monstrosity that pitched violently on the rutted roads. She would be bounced around inside like a pebble in a barrel.

“I like being in the fresh air riding Merriweather,” she told him with the closest thing to a genuine smile she could muster.

He seemed finally satisfied, and clucked to his horse to canter ahead. Aurora rode along, lost in thought, until she heard voices ahead, calling out for the caravan to halt. Her heart leapt to her throat when she saw that it was the carriage belonging to Regina the Merchant. Killian! She reined in Merriweather and slid to the ground. She hurried forward to find the carriage tilted crazily to one side, the back left wheel broken in half.

“Killian!” she called out, lifting her skirts to run for the carriage.

A blonde head leaned out of the back of the carriage. “He’s okay,” Emma Swan called out to her. She motioned Aurora closer. “You can see him, but he’s had a dose of belladonna. He’s barely conscious.”

Aurora climbed up into the carriage, despite the glaring looks from her father. She waited for him to haul her bodily away and fling her over his saddle like he had years ago, yet all he did was make a grumbling sound deep in his throat as he and several of his knights turned their attentions to the broken wheel.

Emma reached for her hand and helped her into the makeshift sick room. Some of Regina’s wares were packed in corners or hanging from the wooden beams of the carriage roof. Yet the women had piled up several blankets and carpets to make a sick bed for Killian. It took Aurora’s eyes a moment to adjust to the dim light, but as she grew close, she saw his pale face resting against a red velvet cushion. His facial muscles twitched involuntarily from time to time, and his thick eyelashes fluttered against the apples of his cheeks. Aurora frowned in sympathy as she reached out to brush her fingers against temple.

“He’s cried out for you.”

Aurora turned towards Emma, who ducked her head, a slight blush coloring her cheeks. Her voice choked a bit on the words. Aurora smiled and reached out to grasp the other woman’s hand.

“Thank you for taking care of him.”

Emma finally lifted her green eyes to meet Aurora’s gaze and gave her a tentative smile. She opened her mouth to tell Aurora something, but she was cut off by loud shouts and the whinnying of horses outside. Both women shared alarmed glances before crawling towards the door at the back of the carriage. Emma put her finger to her lips, and Aurora nodded her understanding. Then Emma cautiously lifted a tiny part of the tapestry that hung across the carriage opening. Aurora almost gasped aloud at the sight of masked men locked in a struggle with her father’s knights. She clamped her hand to her mouth just in time. Emma turned, her expression tense, and pulled a sword from behind a crate in the corner. Aurora’s eyes widened.

“Stay here with Killian,” Emma hissed.

Aurora nodded and crawled back to where Killian lay unconscious. She nervously ran her fingers through his hair as Emma slipped out clutching the sword with a determined grip. Aurora was impressed with the young woman. She was dressed in a simple cream gown, but the white ermine cloak covering it was of rich fabric. Her golden hair lay over one shoulder in a thick braid. Yet despite her elegant trappings, she seemed confident with that sword. Aurora wished she could have that type of strength.

Meanwhile, Emma slipped out of the carriage not a moment too soon. Regina was standing guard over her ward and their patient with a sword of her own, yet she was becoming outnumbered as three more masked highwaymen charged her. Emma blocked one of their blows before Regina could be cut down from behind. Regina whirled towards her.

“Thank God,” she quipped, “what took you so long?”

Emma merely rolled her eyes at the other woman as she suddenly became overwhelmed defending the carriage. Two women traveling alone with expensive wares were seen as an easy target, and she and Regina made sure they were prepared to defend themselves and their property.

Yet Emma was no fool. The broken wheel. The sudden appearance of Lord Stefan’s caravan. Sir Killian injured and in their care. It was all too much to be a coincidence. She had a feeling Regina’s merchandise wasn’t the target of this attack.

But one thing Emma Swan had not counted on was being a target herself. She was used to the unwanted advances from men. Used to the opposite sex assuming things about her because of her station and lack of title. Yet that lack of station, despite her beauty, also meant that Emma could breathe easier than most women her age in other areas. She had no fear of an arranged marriage. She had no dowry, no pure blood line to make her a desirable match. What’s more, Regina had made her own way in the world, and had raised Emma to believe she could do the same. If she wed, it would be her choice. She also had no fear of being held for ransom. Yes, Regina had expensive goods in her possession, but if a scoundrel wanted those, he could just take them. He had no need to use Emma for bartering. And the Mills estate had long fallen into disrepair, the family money dolled out to distant male relatives as the law dictated. All Regina had left was the small summer manor, which made a comfortable home for her and Emma, but wasn’t really worth much.

So Emma had no reason to believe that these highwaymen would try to snatch _her_. She was honestly more worried for poor Lady Aurora, which was why she told her to stay in the carriage. If the men saw her, there was no telling the danger she would be in. Emma, however, could take care of herself.

But then one of the bandits surprised her from behind. Instead of grabbing at her or swinging with his sword, he brought his fist down upon her head with incredible force. Regina called out as the world went black and the ground tilted up to meet her.

Regina prided herself on two things: making her own way in the world and raising her ward Emma Swan to do the same. Okay, that wasn’t entirely true. She also prided herself on taking care of Emma. Of loving her like a daughter. And nothing had made terror grip Regina’s heart than the sight of Emma crumpling into the arms of a scoundrel. Regina shouted and plunged through the fray, trying to get to her daughter.

Yes, her daughter. She never used that word aloud, but it was how she thought of the young woman.

But before Regina could reach her, a horseman galloped into the melee and scooped Emma up onto his horse. Before Regina could even react, he had disappeared down the road and into the trees.

“No!” Regina cried, falling to her knees.

Rough hands grabbed her and hauled her backwards. Regina looked around to see many knights lying cold upon the ground. Lord Stefan and his surviving knights had already been rounded up and bound. Screams came from the back of the carriage where Lady Aurora was being dragged out. Regina had to hand it to her, she was kicking and scratching for all she was worth.

“Unhand me!” the lady shouted.

The poor girl’s terror morphed into something even more hysterical when one of the men pulled a sword and stepped up onto the bottom step of the carriage.

“No!” Aurora screamed, tears streaming down her face. “Don’t touch him!”

Regina gasped as she realized that they intended to slay the wounded knight where he lay. They seemed to already know he was there. “Wait!” Regina cried out, lunging forward against the grip of her captors. “If you spare the knight, I can get you gold!”

The man with the sword paused and turned his head towards a man still on horseback behind him. The rider pulled his hood back and yanked his mask down around his neck.

“Sir Baelfire!” Aurora cried out in shock and anger.

“How dare you!” Stefan raged, “After we welcomed you into our home!”

Sir Baelfire ignored the Lord and Lady and instead leveled a glare at Regina. “Gold you say?”

Regina tossed her head and tilted her chin haughtily. “My father had no heirs, only me. And he told only me of the family gold. Leave Lady Aurora with her knight and take me instead. I’ll take you to it.”

Sir Baelfire scoffed and tossed a hand carelessly towards his comrade who hesitated with his sword at his side. “Sir Killian is on death’s door anyway.”

The man re-sheathed his sword, then followed his leader’s example by lowering his hood and removing the scarf from his face. Not surprisingly, he was another Templar Knight. “So we’re taking only Regina the Merchant?” he asked.

Sir Baelfire scowled openly at Regina, then chuckled. “Of course not. We still have a deal concerning the Lord Stefan and his daughter, remember.”

The rest of the man’s company laughed wickedly as they grabbed Lady Aurora and tied her up with her father. Sir Baelfire clucked to his horse, turning the mount towards the road.

“And where are you going?” one of his men asked.

The smile that filled Baelfire’s face made a pit form in Regina’s stomach. It was a smile filled with lust and depravity.

“I’m going to collect my own prize,” he sneered as he dug his heels into his horse’s flanks.

As he galloped away, Regina shouted every foul word she could think of at his retreating form. She had failed Emma.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming up next: Well, coming up next is where things get really exciting. All of our captives end up in surprising places, with several pairs being thrown together *wink* *wink* Sir Philip will, of course, wake up. How will he help our captives? And a certain bow and arrow wielding hero is lurking in the woods somewhere just waiting to meet a certain brunette . . .


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phillip tries to make things right, but will Aurora trust him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I know I haven't updated this since January, and I am sincerely sorry. There are many reasons, the biggest of which was just life. I also am doing the CS supernatural summer and the big bang, which I have had to prioritize over other projects. But, my kids sports season is now over (thank the Lord!), and summer is approaching, so I will have a lot more time. I can't give you promises about when or how often I will update this, but it will definitely be better than waiting five months!  
> *There is little CS in this chapter, but I'm setting things up to get various couples alone together. I know I promised we would see a certain bow and arrow wielding hero in this chapter, but the length got away from me and I had to push that scene to the next chapter.  
> * Remember when I said that Baelfire was a villain? A full out, awful, despicable villain . . . He's the reason I had to up the rating to T and add the tag implied/referenced rape/non-con. But I want to be clear: No one is going to be raped.

              Phillip pushed the horse he was riding as fast as he dared. He had found the remains of the merchant Regina’s carriage with the broken wheel. Two paths were presented to him: one was wide and trampled with deep ruts from wagon wheels. The other was less noticeable, marked with only the hoof marks of a pair of horses. Sir Baelfire wanted the maiden Emma, and he wanted Lady Aurora, too, for some nefarious purpose. With the virtue of two maidens at stake, Phillip’s instincts told him to follow the pair of horses. His heart beat wildly in his chest, the terrors of what the sweet Lady Aurora may be enduring too loathsome to dwell upon.

              Sir Phillip crested a hill and drew his horse up sharply at the sight of Sir Baelfire leading his horse off the road and into the trees. Slung across the saddle was the limp body of the maiden Emma Swan.

              “What in God’s name are you doing?” Sir Phillip demanded.

              Sir Baelfire looked up at him with a sneer. “Well, if it isn’t our good little choir boy, Sir Phillip. Leave me with my prize, _boy_.”

              Phillip dismounted swiftly, his mind racing. It was clear that Sir Baelfire meant to take what he pleased where Emma Swan was concerned, and Phillip could never abide it. However, he would be no use to the maiden, nor to Lady Aurora and her father, if Sir Baelfire knocked him out cold again here on the side of the road. Or worse, ran him through. Philip wasn’t fool enough to forget that Sir Baelfire had him beat in both strength and sword play. No. If Phillip were to act the hero, he must use his wits instead.

              “I want in on the plan after all,” Phillip said as he grasped Baelfire by the arm.

              Sir Baelfire’s brow creased skeptically. “You changed your mind? Just like that? After your impassioned speech about honor and chivalry?”

              Phillip swallowed his disgust and drummed up an air of swagger. “Let’s just say that blow to the head knocked some sense into me. And I will die if I don’t have the Lady Aurora. Please! Help me get her!”

              Phillip had bargained on two things: that Baelfire assumed all men allowed their libido to guide them, and that he loved when people begged him for anything. It paid off. Baelfire grinned salaciously.

              “No worries, my boy. Stick with me, and you shall have whatever you desire. We’ll head to my father’s castle momentarily. For now, the lady and I need a little privacy . . if you know what I mean . . . “

              Phillip pushed aside his revulsion. “What do you plan to do to her?”

              Baelfire tilted his head back and laughed uproariously. “If I have to explain it to you, then you need more help than I thought.”

              Phillip shook his head. “No, I mean, with her out like that?”

              Sir Baelfire shrugged. “Men do all the work, you know.”

              “You plan on marrying her?”

              “Naturally. And after this, she will have no other choice.”

              Phillip racked his brain. He couldn’t let Baelfire do this to the poor woman, and he would throw his subterfuge to the wind to save her if need be. But if he could keep up the ruse, it could save everyone.

              “Wouldn’t it make for a more pleasant hearth and home if the maiden held affection for you?”

              Baelfire paused, “How so?”

              “Well,” Phillip continued, moistening his lips, “if you take the time to woo her, she will live and breathe to please you. Or so I’m told.”

              A slow grin filled Baelfire’s face. “Good point, my boy. We’ll make haste to my father’s castle. And there, I shall seduce this beautiful maiden until she is putty in my hands.”

              Phillip held back the breath of relief he wanted to expel. Thank the Lord above that Sir Baelfire was so self-absorbed! He couldn’t resist the possibility that a woman would worship the ground he walked on and do his every bidding. Of course, Sir Phillip had seen enough of Emma Swan to know that Sir Baelfire had his work cut out for him. When they reached the castle, Phillip wouldn’t have much time to set things right. Because he knew one thing for certain: his fellow knight would quickly grow impatient, and then the maiden Emma would once again be in grave danger.    

                            ******************************************************

              The room that Aurora found herself in was opulent and filled with every comfort a maiden could want. Yet its trappings didn’t fool her for one minute: she was a prisoner, and this was her cell. One of the knights had made a lewd reference to the bed and her virginity which had made her shudder. Another had told her to “wait for your chosen knight to come and claim his prize.” So the last place she wanted to come close to in this chamber was the bed. In fact, her blood ran cold every time she glanced upon it.

              She heard the key turn in the lock, and she hastily snatched up a heavy pewter candlestick and held it aloft as the door swung open. He heart plummeted when she saw who it was while anger simultaneously lit fire to her veins.

              “You!” she raged as she charged at the knight, swinging the candlestick.

              Sir Phillip easily stopped her blow, pulling the makeshift weapon easily from her grasp. Aurora didn’t cower, however, she merely beat upon him with her fists instead.

              “I trusted you! Shared things with you! How could you?”

              Sir Phillip grasped her gently yet firmly by the shoulders as her eyes filled with hot tears. “Aurora, please calm down and listen to me!”

              “Listen to you?” she asked, shoving him until he released her. “Why should I? So you can attempt to seduce me? Well, you can save yourself the trouble, because my heart belongs only to –“

              “Sir Killian?” Phillip finished for. “I know. Which is why I brought him to you.”

              Aurora’s anger drained away and her face wrinkled with confusion. “You – you what?”

              Sir Phillip turned and motioned for several other knights to enter the room bearing a litter on which lay –

              “Killian!” Aurora cried out. She ran to him, helping the other men get him situated on the bed. His face was pale and sweating, and his hand trembled as he lifted it to cup her face.

              “My darling,” he managed to whisper. Aurora grabbed his hand with both of hers and kissed his palm. He was burning up with fever.

              “Oh, Killian. Why does fate keep making things so hard for us?” Aurora choked out, tears streaming down her face. “If I’ve angered God in some way, I will make it right. I’ll be a dutiful daughter and marry the Prince if I have to. As long as you are well. I can’t – I can’t lose you!”

              “Don’t say that –“ Killian grimaced, “ and don’t cry, my love.” He tried that charming smile that had always managed to brighten her days. “Just a little rest, and I’ll be myself again.”

              But then his face contorted in pain again and his eyes fluttered closed. Sir Phillip put a hand to Aurora’s shoulder and gently lifted her from where she knelt upon the floor beside the bed. His touch brought Aurora back to her senses, and she whirled on him.

              “You’re a knight of the Templar, under Sir Baelfire’s command! You’re part of this plot!” Then she lifted her hand and slapped him hard across the face. The sound of it echoed through the chamber.

              Phillip didn’t shrink away from her gaze or even lift a hand to the spot that was already turning a bright red upon his cheek. “I swear to you, Lady Aurora, upon my own sweet mother’s grave, that I did not know of their plot. I tried to stop it and was left cold upon the ground back at Rosenwood. As soon as I came to, I made my way with hast after your caravan. Unfortunately, I was too late.”

              Aurora crossed her arms indignantly. “And how do I know that I can believe a single word you say?”

              Sir Phillip shocked her by sinking to one knee before her and clasping her hand. “I will do whatever you ask, whatever it takes, to prove myself. Tell me, Lady Aurora, what do you desire? Anything.”          

              “Get me the healer Emma Swan to tend to Killian.”

              Phillip kissed her hand and grinned broadly. “It shall be done.”

                             *************************************************

              Emma Swan’s mind came up from a deep fog. Her head pounded, and her throat ached. It took her several moments to force her eyes open, and when they did, all she could see was the blurry outline of a person coming towards her. She tried to move away as the person loomed over her, but her limbs wouldn’t cooperate any more than her eyesight.

              “Shh,” the rough voice said, and when Emma’s vision cleared, she saw that it was Sir Baelfire. He reached out and stroked her face. His touch caused her blood to pump, and she leapt up and backed away. Sir Baelfire grinned lecherously at her.

              “I could have taken you in the forest, you know,” he told her, “but I didn’t.”

              Emma’s eyes darted about the room as she inched along the wall, looking for a way of escape. But her faculties were still compromised, her head pounding where she had been struck, and she found herself backed into a corner, her shoulder bumping against a stone column. And Sir Baelfire kept right on advancing. She hated for any man to see her cower, so she tilted her chin defiantly as he reached out to stroke her hair, though every fiber in her being wanted to recoil from his touch.

              “I want you breathing out my name,” he said, his voice cool yet suggestive.

              “Never going to happen,” Emma bit out.

              Baelfire cupped her face, and the look he gave her was almost sincere, almost tender. “I can win your heart.”

              “Doubtful.”

              She ducked beneath his arm then, taking him by surprise. He grabbed for her, and she stumbled. She managed to kick at his shins in the process, causing him to trip over a stool. She rushed for the only opening she could find: the balcony. She rushed to the railing, and the dizzy feeling from her concussion returned as she looked down at the ground below. They were at least four stories up. Emma did the only thing she could do as Baelfire rushed out after her; she scrambled up onto the railing.

              “Don’t come any closer or I’ll jump!” she screamed, and Baelfire skidded to a stop, his eyes wide.

              “Have you lost your senses completely, woman? You’ll fall to your death!”

              “I would rather die than let you touch me!” It was true. Emma was no fool. She knew how women were viewed in this century. Some would say Baelfire already had claims to wed her simply because she was in his chamber. (Wherever this chamber was.) And she also wasn’t so naïve to believe his claims to try and win her heart. He would force himself on her and take her virginity. Then at best, she’d be saddled to him as a wife. At worst, she would be cast out, treated as a prostitute. Especially since people already called her a witch.

              So yes, death seemed preferable.

              Baelfire took a step forward, but before Emma could either jump or give him another warning, a loud crash came from inside the chamber. Emma was surprised to see Sir Philip come bursting out onto the balcony. His eyes were wide with confusion and alarm at the scene he had stumbled upon. Sir Philip seemed like an honorable man, but he was still one of the Knights of the Templar, so Emma shouted her warning at him as well.

              “If anyone tries to lay a hand on me, I will jump!”

              “Sir Baelfire!” Sir Philip cried. “What are you about?”

              “I rescued this fair maiden from the man who carried her off into the forest. She woke up and started rambling. I believe she may be mad.”

              “He attempted to force himself upon me!” Emma protested, attempting to calm her voice. Perching herself on the railing and threatening to jump certainly wasn’t helping her cause. Surely Sir Philip would believe a fellow knight and think her mad. She was surprised when the man instead eased slowly towards her, hand extended.

              “Please, m’lady, come down from there. I will ensure that no harm befalls you.”

              Emma narrowed her eyes as she studied his features. He was telling the truth. Yet she still hesitated, eyes darting to Sir Baelfire. “I am not sure you are in a place to make such promises. Is Sir Baelfire not your superior?”

              Sir Philip locked his eyes on hers and did not waver. “Sir Killian is also in this castle, m’lady. He is gravely ill, and you are the only healer for many miles. Will you please come to his aid?”

              It was all Sir Philip had to say. Emma placed her hand in his and stepped down from the ledge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, I'll reveal where Regina is and Killian will make a desperate plea to Phillip to keep Aurora safe. But will Aurora agree to it?


	7. Chapter 7

              Regina twisted her wrists, struggling to loosen the ropes that held her tied to a tree, but all she managed to do was rub her tender skin raw. She watched the Templar knights carousing around the campfire, and knew they wouldn’t hesitate to kill her the minute they realized her tale of gold at Mills Manor was just that . . . a tale. She only prayed that her lie had at least saved Sir Killian. Lord Stefan sagged against a tree on the other side of the camp, his head lolling against his chest. She knew the worry that must be plaguing him concerning his daughter. It was the same worry that plagued Regina about Emma.

              Regina heard a whistle by her right ear, and her hair ruffled across her cheek. An arrow embedded itself into the side of one of the wagons with a sharp twang, sending the Templar Knights surging to their feet. Everything after that was chaos as a band of men burst from the trees, arrows flying. Swords were drawn, and the clash of metal filled the air. Soon, the Templar knights who weren’t lying dead on the forest floor with arrows in their chests were rounded up and bound. A man in a cloak of green strode forward. He was clearly the leader of the group.

              “This is Sherwood Forest, lads, and it is the domain of me and my men. All who trespass here are required to pay a toll.” The man paused, lifting the canvas that covered the goods in Regina’s merchant cart. “And this will do nicely.”

              Regina lifted her voice over the raucous cheers of the bandits, “That is _my_ property, and I won’t see it stolen by a dirty group of thieves who smell like forest!”

              The leader of the group turned towards Regina, lowering his hood. She felt a foolish flutter in her chest at his smile that crinkled his cheeks and the light of amusement in his blue eyes. He pulled a dagger from the belt at his waist and used it to make quick work of her bonds. Regina scowled up at him as she rubbed her swore wrists.

              “I would think a thank you was in order,” he said, gesturing to the cut ropes.

              “I don’t thank thieves who are about to cart off my livelihood.”

              He shrugged. “My men and I must make a living, too.” He then extended his hand. “The infamous Robin Hood at your service, m’lady.”

              Regina ignored his outstretched hand and marched across the campsite to where Lord Stefan was being given a cup of wine. The older man’s hands shook as he lifted the goblet to his lips. Regina knelt beside him, slipping into her role as healer. She tentatively examined the cut on his head, but felt no lumps. His wrists held rope burns like hers, but otherwise he seemed uninjured. He was probably just hungry and thirsty. Regina’s own stomach growled to remind her that she was too.

              “I believe it only fair that your captor’s stew should now be yours,” Robin spoke at her elbow, handing her a steaming bowl.

              Regina took it, settling to sit on the log next to Lord Stefan. She mumbled a begrudging thank you as she began to eat. They offered the older man stew as well, but he waved them off with a shaking hand.

              “Please, help us!” he begged. “I’m Lord Stefan of Rosenwood, and the rest of this contingency of knights have kidnapped my daughter.”

              Robin Hood crossed his arms over his chest, the smile falling from his face as he regarded Lord Stefan. “I know your name, my Lord. I fought alongside your ward Sir Killian in the Crusades. Your daughter is Lady Aurora, is she not?”

              Lord Stefan nodded, “Yes, she is.”

              “Killian spoke often of her. If at least for my friend, my men and I vow to rescue her.” Robin then reached out his hand to clasp Lord Stefan’s.

              “But we don’t even know where they have taken her!” Regina protested. “And my ward, a young lady named Emma Swan, is in just as much danger as Lady Aurora. A man on horseback took off with her into the forest.”

              Robin rubbed his chin thoughtfully, then gestured to his men. “Fear not, m’lady, the merry men have a way of getting our enemies to talk.” He leaned closer to her, and Regina swallowed hard. “And what might your name be?”

              Regina tilted her chin. “I am simply Regina the merchant.”

              Robin took her hand and lifted it to his lips. “The honor is all mine, _simply Regina_.”

                             ************************************************

              “Who gave you the authority to move Sir Killian from the dungeon?” Sir Baelfire demanded as Sir Phillip helped Emma Swan down from the balcony ledge.

              Sir Phillip marched right into Baelfire’s personal space, and hissed under his breath, “It is what Lady Aurora desired. Perhaps you could take some advice on how to endear yourself to a lady.”

              Phillip brushed past Sir Baelfire, not waiting for a response. He hoped his posturing would throw the man off, at least long enough for him to come up with a plan to get both women out of the castle. Of course, at the moment, he was making things up as he went along. He guided Emma Swan through the corridors of the castle as quickly as he could until they arrived at Lady Aurora’s chamber. The brunette lass was still kneeling beside the bed, her lovers hands clasped in hers. She rose quickly as soon as he and Emma entered the room.

              “He’s conscious, but he’s burning up,” Aurora told the healer.

              Emma knelt beside the bed, brushing the knight’s dark hair from his forehead. She turned to Sir Phillip. “I need herbs and a pestle. Is there an apothecary on the grounds?”

              Sir Phillip nodded. He stepped into the corridor and asked a page boy to procure the necessary herbs. “And find some linens for bandages too,” Phillip added, “and draw more water for Miss Swan.”

              The boy hurried off, and when Phillip stepped back into the bedchambers, he found both women struggling to get Sir Killian to lie back down upon the bed. When the man saw Phillip, his eyes widened and locked on his.

              “Please sir!” he begged. “Take these ladies far from here!”

              “Killian, please,” Aurora begged, “you must calm down!”

              “You’ll re-open the stitches Regina used in your side,” Emma added, trying to keep her voice calm and steady, “and your neck wound is agitated every time you speak.”

              “Sir Killian,” Phillip said, his intense tone calming the man, “I swear to you it shall be done.”

              Killian sagged against the bedding, even as the two females began to argue indignantly.

              “I won’t leave you,” Aurora vowed.

              “Someone must care for your injuries,” Emma Swan argued, “and keep an eye on this fever.”

              Killian shook his head. “I overheard the knights as they took me down to the dungeon. Aurora, Prince James will be here by mid-morning tomorrow. He put Sir Baelfire up to this. He plans to force you into a marriage. With your father being held elsewhere, and me in this accursed bed, there will be no one to stop him. You must flee.”

              Emma worried her bottom lip as she pressed her hand to the bandage at Sir Killian’s throat. “You must remain silent and still; you’re bleeding through your dressings.”

              “Aurora,” Killian choked out, grasping the lady’s hand, “I won’t be able to heal until I know you are safe.”

              Aurora’s tears flowed freely down her cheeks as she pressed her lips to Killian’s palm. “But how do we know this knight can be trusted?”

              Sir Killian attempted a teasing smile. “I’m a good judge of character. But if you have concerns, then put him to the test, my love.”

              Aurora stood slowly, her face grim as she faced Sir Phillip. Her blue eyes scrutinized his face, and Phillip felt his cheeks go warm at her perusal. She finally asked him a question. Just one.         

              “Sir Phillip, what is the one thing women desire most?”

              He locked his hazel eyes on her blue as he mulled over her question. He thought of their conversation in the barn back at Rosenwood. He thought of Emma Swan, perched on the railing of the balcony in desperation. He thought of his own mother, so gentle and bright and beautiful, chained in marriage to a dull, witless man.

              “I believe,” he said finally, “that women want to be able to choose their own way.”

              Lady Aurora blinked rapidly, then turned with an arched brow to Sir Killian. Her lover managed a weak chuckle. “I didn’t tell him that, I swear.”

              She then looked back at Phillip and extended her hand, which trembled slightly, for him to take. “Then in you I put my faith and trust, honorable knight.”

              Sir Phillip squeezed her offered hand lightly, and gave her a gentle smile. Then he turned to Emma Swan.

              “Miss Swan, do you likewise trust me?”

              Emma gave a regal nod of her head, a tiny smile gracing her face. “I do,” she told him, “but I won’t be leaving with you. Sir Killian won’t survive the night without a healer watching over him. I will not leave his side.”

              Sir Killian did not protest the lady’s words, for he had already fallen into a fretful, feverish sleep.

                


             

             

             

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that we've got all the ships paired off and secluded . . . well, this is where the fun begins ;)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * I'm no expert on herbal medicine. The information here was found on Google, lol! So excuse any errors . . .   
> * I did, however, recently read a book about the Black Plague during the Middle Ages. The information in this chapter about the persecution of the Jewish people during that time is accurate. Also accurate are the theories about why the Jews stayed well when everyone else was getting sick. I thought this was a fitting tribute to Rebecca in the original Ivanhoe, the character Emma is based on, because Rebecca was Jewish.

              Aurora swapped clothes with Emma, including her ermine cloak, then slipped with Sir Phillip down the back stairwell of the castle. Aurora kept the hood of the cloak up and her head down, but luckily they only came across two maid servants and a page. Phillip led her through a dark corridor behind the kitchen, and they came out at the back of the castle.

              “I wish we could go to the stables and get my horse,” Phillip said, “but I’m afraid it will attract too much attention. We’ll have to flee on foot.”

              Aurora tried to put on a brave face as she nodded. “Won’t sir Baelfire’s knights be able to overtake us?”

              Sir Phillip took her hand and smiled reassuringly as he led her quickly through the back gates that led into Sherwood Forest. “The maidservant and page assigned to your chambers are from your father’s entourage. By my command, of course. They will buy us time, and don’t forget Emma is now in your dress. Perhaps she can use a bit of subterfuge.”

              Aurora frowned as they made their way quickly down the forest path. “You don’t think they will harm her, do you?”

              Phillip’s face was marred with genuine concern. “I sincerely hope not. I wish she had listened to Sir Killian and come with us.” He tugged on Aurora’s hand gently as he hurried along.

              “I apologize for pushing you, m‘lady, but we must make haste. I want to be as far away from that castle as possible by nightfall.”

              _Nightfall._ Lady Aurora’s face heated, and her heart thudded in her chest. She hoped Sir Phillip was the chivalrous gentleman she thought him to be, or she could be in danger of a different sort out here in the forest.

                            ************************************************************

              Emma opened the case of herbs that the page had found for her downstairs. The castle had no healer, but the cook kept basic herbs and salves in the kitchen for emergencies. It wasn’t as well stocked as what she and Regina kept on hand, but it was better than nothing. Sir Killian watched her so intently as she ground leaves with the small mortar and pestle, that it made her feel a bit self-conscious.

              “How did you come to be such an accomplished healer?” he asked. His voice held a slight tremor, which worried her.

              “When I was twelve, the plague swept through,” Emma told him as she filled a teapot with water from the basin the chamber maid had brought, “and I fell gravely ill.”

              “The plague took so many,” Killian said softly, “Aurora’s mother was one of them.”

              “I’m sorry,” Emma told him with genuine sympathy as she hung the teapot over the fire, “I know she was like a mother to you as well.” She took a seat on a stool by the hearth.

              “It was long ago,” Killian managed to say through a grunt of pain as he shifted upon the bed.

              “Let me check your bandages,” Emma said as she hurried to his side.

Killian grasped her hand as she reached for the bandage at his neck. “Please, continue your story. It . . . will distract me.”

Emma nodded in understanding, knowing he didn’t want to admit weakness by showing the extent of his pain.

“As you probably know,” Emma resumed as she peeled back the bandage gingerly, “the Jews have been persecuted because few of them ever fall ill from the plague. I was on the verge of death, and Regina was desperate. She went to a Jewish healer near the manor and begged for her help.”

Emma schooled her features so Killian couldn’t see her concern. The gash on his neck was an angry red, weeping yellowish fluid. It was clearly infected. Emma continued her story to keep herself as well as her patient calm as she checked the bandage at his waist.

“Regina discovered that it wasn’t witchcraft but cleanliness and herbal remedies that kept the Jews well. Their laws and customs dictate that they sweep their houses clean regularly, so they rarely have vermin. Wounds are ceremonially washed, and the sick are separated from the community.”

Emma subconsciously worried her lower lip as she saw that Killian’s other wound was in worse shape than the first. Luckily, the kettle sang, and Emma hurried to retrieve it.

“I suppose those are wise practices,” Killian mused, “they don’t bleed people?”

Emma shook her head as she set the kettle on the nightstand. She took the herbs she had been crushing and shook them into a pewter cup. “Jews believe that life is in the blood. It makes no sense to them to drain it. Regina thinks there is more superstition in Christian medicine than in that of the Jews.”

Killian’s eyebrows rose, and Emma chuckled. She poured the hot water from the tea kettle into the cup and stirred it with the teaspoon.

“I know. It sounds like heresy. I suppose that’s why people have accused us of witchcraft. But you can’t deny Jews are healthier. And people don’t seem to care that Regina and I are _witches_ when they are in desperate need of a healer.”

Killian winced as Emma helped him up and lifted the cup to his lips.

“This is valerian root tea. It will dull the pain and help you sleep. I must clean your wounds and change the dressings. You’d probably rather be out when I do it. The pain will be great.”

Killian’s brow furrowed as he drained the cup with Emma’s help. “Infection has set in, hasn’t it?”

Emma let out a long breath as she set the cup down. “I’m afraid so. You feel slightly feverish, and the wounds are weeping. I hope your fever doesn’t get higher, that could be a grave danger. If only I had some cat’s claw . . . “

She helped him slide back down on his back, but she kept the covers folded down so she could change the dressings on his wounds without waking him. Emma blushed slightly at the feel of the hard muscles of his biceps beneath her hands. Even injured, he exuded strength.

As drowsiness swept over him, he whispered to her, “Thank you . . . for telling me the truth.”

Emma gave him a sad smile as his eyelids drooped. They drifted closed finally, the long lashes brushing against his flushed cheeks. Emma finally succumbed to temptation and brushed at a lock of hair on his forehead. His eyes fluttered open again, and she froze, her fingertips still pressed against his warm brow.

“You’re . . . so beautiful,” he slurred, and Emma assumed he once again thought she was Aurora, “like an angel . . . Emma Swan.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming up, night falls . . . I wonder what that will bring . . .


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long since I updated this! I have actually been working on this chapter for quite some time, and I am so excited that it's finally ready. This is where sexual tension begins to run high . . .

              It was dark, and Emma must have been outside because above her were the sharp outline of tree branches stark against a large full moon. The ground was hard, and dry leaves crackled beneath her head, tangling in her hair. Suddenly, the moon was blocked by a figure above her. She blinked, but she couldn’t make out the person’s face.

              “I can make you love me,” the person rasped, his foul breath hot against her face.

              Sir Baelfire! Emma went to lift her arms to push him away, but they were pinned to the ground. His lower body pressed down upon her. Emma tried to kick, but she couldn’t move. Sir Baelfire tried to press a kiss to her lips, and she turned her head, but his wet lips against her neck was worse. She thrashed, and she heard him moan. The sound made her panic further, and she flailed her arms and legs. They could move now, but they were entangled in something. Her assailant was no longer pressed down upon her, but she struggled against some type of bond. The moaning continued, but it was of a different sort, and farther away.

              Finally, Emma jerked and found herself not in the dark forest, but in the dark recesses of a castle, tangled up in sheets. She let out a long breath of relief when she realized she had been having a nightmare. She pushed the linens aside, blinking her eyes to take in the fire burning low in the hearth in the main room beyond the ladies waiting chamber in which she slept. On the bed on the opposite side of the room, Sir Killian thrashed upon the bed. The moans she had heard were his.

              The stone floor was cool beneath her feet as she made her way across the room. She paused at the fireplace to light a candle that rested on the mantle, then she made her way to the master bed. She held the candle aloft, but Sir Killian’s eyes did not open. His brow was furrowed deeply, probably in pain, and his dark hair was soaked and clinging to his forehead. He shivered even as he thrashed, attempting to pull the blankets closer with trembling hands. Emma felt the heat radiating from him even before she touched his skin. She set the candle on the nightstand beside his bed and sat on the edge. She quickly crushed some meadowsweet with the mortar and pestle, then pressed on Killian’s jaw, forcing a bit of the herb onto his tongue. She wasn’t sure how much of it would get into his system, but it was better than nothing.

              He mumbled as he thrashed, his eyes opening in terror at times. From what little she could make out, he was hallucinating about the Crusades, which meant his fever was higher than she had thought. Emma worried her lower lip as she took in the sheen of sweat on his chest, the clenching of his fists, and the arching of his back. He would open his wounds all over again at this rate. She had to get his fever down quickly, and she didn’t have time to wait and see if the meadowsweet had worked. There was a practice common amongst the Jewish people, but frowned upon by the more pietistic Christians. And Sir Killian may very well hate her for it come morning. Yet she saw no other way.

              So Emma pressed her lips together resolutely and slipped beneath the covers. The Jewish healers often had a young virgin girl to assist them, and these girls would often “lie down” with feverish patients so they could “sweat off” the fever. Virgin girls would sometimes lie with the elderly and dying too for the opposite reason; to keep them warm at night. The healer who trained Emma said that the practice dated all the way back to King David. No one in the Jewish community saw this as improper in any way.

              Of course, most of their patients probably weren’t virile young knights Emma thought wryly as she wrapped her right arm around Killian’s muscular chest. His moans turned to whimpers at her touch, and a shudder went through him. Encouraged when he didn’t awaken or recoil from her, she edged closer to him.

              “Liam,” he whispered, “Liam, I’m frightened.”

              “Shhh,” Emma said softly, stroking his damp hair gently, “there’s nothing to be frightened of, you’re all right.”

              Killian’s eyes fluttered half open, and it was as if his gaze struggled to understand what he was seeing. He reached down with a shaking hand to touch her hair. “Like spun gold,” he muttered, “I think an angel has come for me, Liam.”

              Emma bit her lip so she wouldn’t laugh at his feverish ramblings. She remembered hearing about an older brother that Sir Killian had lost fighting in the Crusades. It must be this Liam he spoke of now.

              “Just sleep,” Emma soothed, stroking his cheek.

              He blinked, fighting sleep. “Have you come to take me home? Away from this hell on earth?” He became agitated, his head rolling from side to side. “It’s so hot here. So hot . . . “

              Emma felt tears rise to the corner of her eyes. Men didn’t speak of battle, especially not to women, but clearly Sir Killian had experienced much trauma fighting in the Crusades. What demons plagued him in his feverish delirium? She had to do what she could to ease his tortured mind.

              “Yes,” she told him as she drew closer, resting her cheek on his chest, “I’ve come to save you. Just hold tight to me, and all will be well.” His skin was like a furnace beneath her.

              Her words seemed to have their intended affect. He let out a long sigh, his entire body relaxing bit by bit. Though his arms shook, he put them around her and drew her ever closer, pressing his face to the top of her hair.

              “My angel,” he managed to say, voice slurring as sleep claimed him.

              Emma stroked her arm down his bicep as her heart swelled almost to the point of bursting. She turned her face into his strong chest and let her tears further soak the thick, sweat-drenched hair there. Emma Swan had always thought herself so strong, so forward thinking. She knew she would never marry, her station being what it was. And she had been okay with that. Until now. For now that she knew what it was to be held in Sir Killian’s arms, to share his bed, the lonely years stretched before her like a desolate wasteland. When had she fallen in love with this man? How had she allowed it to happen? For the first time in her life, Emma had allowed herself to be a complete and utter fool where a man was concerned.

                            ******************************************************

              Sir Phillip gazed across the fire at Lady Aurora. She sat primly on the edge of a log, picking at her skirts and looking anywhere but at him. He sighed deeply as he stirred the embers with a long stick. He so wanted her to trust him; to feel safe with him. He couldn’t lie; the Lady’s beauty moved him, her every glance stole his breath. But he would never, ever take advantage of any woman, and he longed to help her see that. He knew it wasn’t easy; most men didn’t give women much reason to trust their gender as a whole.

              He walked slowly around the fire and perched on the end of the log, as far away as he could from Aurora without falling in the dirt. He kept his body angled towards the fire, turning only his face towards her.

              “The fire should last most of the night, m’lady,” Phillip told her gently.

              Aurora simply nodded, staring into the flames and drawing her cloak tighter around herself.

              Phillip narrowed his eyes, “You have nothing to fear from me, Lady Aurora.” He rubbed at his chin, hesitant to continue, but when she still sat there so stoically, he knew he had no other choice. “Sir Killian would have never entrusted me to take you to safety if he thought I was a threat to you in any way.”

              Finally, Aurora turned her blue eyes his way. “That is true,” she admitted, her shoulders relaxing a bit. “I apologize if I have seemed distant, it’s just . . . the only men I’ve ever been alone with have been my father and Sir Killian.”

              “I see,” Phillip said softly.

              Even by the light of the fire, he could see her eyes grow large. “Don’t misunderstand me, Sir Killian was always a gentleman of the highest order. I never felt my maidenhood was in jeopardy.”

              Phillip took a risk and reached over to take Aurora’s slender fingers in his. “And you are in no jeopardy with me, either, I swear it.”

              She gave him a smile. It was a hesitant one, but it cheered him nonetheless. He bent to kiss her hand, and when his gaze met hers again, he was delighted to see her eyes sparkle.

              “Well,” she said in a voice laced with decorum as she withdrew her hand, “I am feeling quite spent from all of the day’s events. I think I shall retire now.”

              Aurora removed the ermine cloak Emma had given her and laid it out on the ground close enough to the fire to enjoy its warmth. He noted how she checked the direction of the wind and chose a spot that would be out of the way of flying embers. She was not only beautiful, but bright and resourceful. He had a feeling that most people were unaware of those qualities, misled by her gentle and quiet demeanor. He saw her rub her hands up and down her arms as she settled onto her makeshift bed, and he hurried to unclasp his own cloak.

              “For extra warmth,” he told her as he draped it around her shoulders.

              Aurora looked up at him with wide and fragile eyes as she pulled the coarse fabric tighter about her shoulders. “Thank you,” she told him softly, “but what about you?”

              “I have slept in many uncomfortable places,” he assured her as he settled down a respectable distance from her. He lay down facing the dark woods, tucking one arm beneath his head. “Goodnight, m’lady.”

              Sleep eluded him. The snap and crackle of the fire couldn’t drown out the rustling sounds made by Aurora wrapped up in his cloak. Nor could Phillip ignore her soft sighs. Every fiber of his being longed to roll over and watch her sleep, but he didn’t want to risk making her feel uncomfortable.

              “Phillip?”

              The sound of his name from her lips made his heart thump wildly in his chest. “Yes, m’lady?” he managed to croak.

              A soft laugh, light and airy, came from her lips. “I was going to ask if you were awake, but that seems pointless now.”

              He laughed with her. When the sounds of it fell away, she spoke again.

              “Can you roll over so I can see your face?”

              Phillip closed his eyes for a moment, then did as she asked. The sight of her; so vulnerable in the light of the flames, her hair fanned out on the cloak beneath her, almost took his breath away. “Is this better?”

              She smiled at him. “Yes, it makes me feel less alone.”

              He returned her smile. He thought she might close her eyes and try to sleep, but instead she kept regarding him intently, the fire making her blue eyes sparkle like water in a stream.

              “What are you thinking, m’lady?” he finally asked her.

              “I’m thinking I want you to stop calling me lady and just call me Aurora.”

              He arched his brow. “As you wish, _Aurora_ , but that wasn’t what you were thinking.”

              Her eyes widened. “And how did you know that, exactly?”

              He shrugged. “I’ve felt I could understand you from the moment we met.” He studied her intently before continuing, and she met his gaze. “You wanted to ask me something.”

              Aurora broke eye contact and fiddled with the edge of her cloak. “What was it like? The Crusades?”

              Phillip frowned, “It isn’t something I wish to burden you with, m – I mean, Aurora.”

              Aurora pursed her lips in obvious frustration, “Why do men always speak of burdening women when all they really mean is they wish to hide the truth?”

              Phillips’s voice softened, “I don’t say such things because you are a woman. I say it because there some things so evil, so horrific, no human being should have to experience them.”

              When Aurora spoke again, her voice trembled slightly. “Are the heathen really as brutal as they say?”

              “ _Men_ are brutal,” Phillip said, unable to keep the edge of cynicism from his voice, “I see little that’s holy in the Crusades anymore, if they were ever holy at all.”

              Aurora rolled onto her back, and her face seemed troubled. “Everyone is different when they return from the Holy Land. And I don’t mean in a good way.”

              “Aye,” Phillip agreed, “some have their innocence shattered, and others . . . well, they get a taste of violence, of dominance, and they unfortunately find that they like it.” He rubbed his hand wearily over his face. “See? These are things one should not speak of to the fairer sex.”

              “If by fair you mean just, then perhaps men should speak to women of such things more often.”

              Phillip rolled over onto his back as well and chuckled. “You may be on to something there.”

              Aurora fell silent as he watched the stars twinkle in the clear sky above. He shivered as the breeze blew across him. He was glad the rain had stopped, but it looked like the night may be a chilly one. He assumed Aurora had finally fallen asleep until a shadow loomed over him. His cloak was then gently draped over him, and Aurora bent down like a mother hen, tucking it around him. Her soft brown curls brushed his cheeks, and her delicate scent washed over him.

              “I have two cloaks,” she explained simply, “and I saw you shiver.”

              “But a gentleman –“

              “Doesn’t have to take a chill in order to prove his mettle,” Aurora interrupted sternly.

              Phillip smiled up at her, “I concede, m’lady.”

              “I told you, it’s Aurora,” she corrected. Then she stole the breath from his lungs by bending closer to brush a kiss to his cheek. “Good night, Phillip.”

              She crossed back to her side of the fire and wrapped herself up in Emma’s cloak. Soon her even breaths told him she was sleeping. Phillip, however, still lay studying the stars with wide eyes. How was he to sleep now with the memory of her silken hair and soft lips against his cheek?

                             **************************************************

              Sir Killian woke up in a much different condition than when he went to sleep. For one, he had drifted off shivering beneath his blankets, unable to get warm. And now, he felt heat radiating off him.

              But the strangest thing he awakened to was a slender arm draped across his chest. He turned his head to find Emma Swan in bed next to him. She lay facing him, her golden locks tumbling over her bare shoulder. Her thin shift stretched across her breasts, and he averted his eyes quickly, his heart pounding and blood racing through his veins. Why was she in his bed? Wait . . . perhaps this was merely a feverish dream. He turned his head slowly back towards her, only to find her jade green eyes blinking open sleepily.

              “Good morrow,” she mumbled dreamily.

              “Good morrow,” he whispered back, still not feeling as if any of this could be real.

              Emma’s eyes drifted closed again, but even so, she asked, “How are you feeling?”

              “Better,” he choked out. The word was heavily weighted.

              She slid her arm across his chest, then traced his jaw and stopped when she reached his brow, where she brushed gently at his hair.

              “Your fever broke.”

              Killian could tell the lass was still a bit drowsy. He swallowed hard as her hand dropped to the mattress.

              “Why . . . are you here?”

              He was shocked when she actually smirked, then chuckled as she tucked both hands beneath her head.

              “You were in danger of re-opening your wounds last night. I had to help you sweat out your fever. Does that make you uncomfortable, chivalrous Sir Killian?” She pouted at him, her brow knitting together. He smiled; he couldn’t help it.

              “You’re teasing me.”

              “It’s just that you have no need to be so shocked. Last night was nothing improper in the least. It’s a practice among many Jewish families.”

              “Families being the key word. You are not my sister.” He grew sober. “If anyone were to discover that you shared my bed –“

              Emma waved her hand dismissively as she sat up and reached for her dressing gown. “No one will discover it. Besides, did not the Lady Aurora spend last night with Sir Phillip in the forest?”

              Killian frowned at the thought. “But Sir Phillip is honorable –“

              “And so are you,” Emma said firmly.

Having tied the gown with a ribbon at her waist, Emma rounded the bed and sat close to him, reaching out to peel back his bandages. Her brow knit in concentration as she ran her fingertips along his abdomen, careful to avoid the cut. Her fingers left sparks in their wake, dancing across his skin and settling low in his belly.

“Your fever fought off the infection!” she said, her smile bright. “Your wounds are healing nicely now!”

“Thank the Lord above!” Killian exclaimed, sitting up and attempting to swing his legs out of the bed.

“Oh no you don’t!” Emma admonished, pushing down on his shoulders with more strength than he would have expected. “You’re still weak, and those wounds are deep. You need more time abed for them to heal completely and your strength to return.”

Killian tried to brush her off, but he got dizzy when he tried to lower his legs to the ground. He clutched his pounding head and moaned.

“See?” Emma tsked, pushing him down gently and tucking the blankets back around his legs. He tried to protest, but his limbs were already shaking. “I’ll make you some more valerian tea.”

He watched as Emma stoked the fire, sending a new flame flickering to life. As she waited for the embers to catch, she deftly braided her hair over one shoulder. He couldn’t help admiring her nimble fingers or the graceful curve of her neck. Something warm unfurled inside of him as she put the teapot over the fire.

“You’ll make some man a fine wife,” he told her hoarsely.

She tossed him a saucy look as she stood, putting her hands on her hips and cocking her head. “Why Sir Killian, are you proposing to me simply out of chivalrous duty? I promise there is no need. You were much too ill to deflower me.’

For the first time in a long while, Killian Jones laughed. He winced at the wounds in his side, yet he still laughed. This Emma Swan was a rare lass indeed.

             

 

             

             


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * This chapter was co-written by snowbellewells. I got stuck and suddenly realized - I can't write Outlaw Queen! So I reached out to Marta, and she came to my rescue. She wrote the first half of this. Go over to tumblr to give her some love or check out her other works on ff.net under the pseud TutorGirlml  
> * The poems Emma reads are not actually from medieval times. They are the lyrics to "Mummer's Dance" by Loreena McKennitt and lyrics from her version of "Greensleeves" I listen to her music while I work on this fic because it is in the style of this time period. Celtic music, I guess? Anyway, wanted to give credit . . .

 

            The fire crackled like a warmly wavering beacon in the dark of the night within the forest.  Though they were far off the track where her wagon had been accosted earlier that day and the crackling, popping logs and dancing flames gave off a much welcomed warmth in the chill night air, Regina found she could not get comfortable in the bedroll she had been so kindly loaned, no matter how hard she might try.  True, she was a bit further off from the circle of camp nearest the blaze, bedded down with the other members of Stefan’s caravan who had been rescued by the band of forest rebels, so she could always claim she had been too chilled for comfortable slumber as her excuse.

 

            It went deeper than that however; there was no sense denying it - at least not to herself.  Her heart ached in her chest at how Emma had been taken from her and only worse and worse possibilities preyed on her mind of what the young woman she loved as a daughter might be enduring even now.  Lying there, reasonably safe and warm, but unable to do anything to help her ward, was eating away at her. Finally, she sighed and flung off the blanket, getting up with a huff of frustration and moving to the small circle of men still awake around the fire.

 

            The man who had been speaking when she approached looked up, unsurprised and at ease as she stepped from the trees into the circle of light.  Regina was mildly annoyed at his calm knowing, as she generally prided herself on having a bit of the grace she had been raised with in the noble home of a lord and lady, and also some measure of stealth and subtlety from the life she had made for herself and Emma - free, but constantly on guard and on the move.

 

    The three or four men still sitting up with him, clearly putting together some sort of battle plan for the day ahead, did look up, startled, when this ‘Hood’ motioned her forward, his tone light and even a bit taunting as he beckoned, “Come milady Regina, join us.  No need to lurk in the shadows.”

 

            Affronted, even as she had been caught out doing just that, Regina huffed and stalked forward, dropping down onto the empty log as far from this Robin of Locksley as she could possibly get. Taking the carved, wooden tankard passed her way, Regina quickly tipped it up to hide at least partially her flushed cheeks and snapping, riled eyes for a moment behind its wide base.

 

            Unfortunately, the sharp, bitter flavor that met her taste buds did not mellow on its way down her throat, and she choked, eyes watering and coughing hard, slamming the drink back down on the log beside her.  Glaring at the men gathered around the fire, as if assuming they had tried to play a trick on her, Regina spat out, “ _What_ is that?”

 

            The near-giant man seated at Robin Hood’s right raised an arm that seemed thick as a tree branch to jab a finger at her, eyes narrowed in equal distaste.  “Tis our own Friar Tuck’s best ale,” he responded heatedly. “One not quite so high and mighty could simply be grateful for drink to wet a parched throat and a safe fire to warm herself by.”

 

            “His best?!?” Reigna spluttered indignantly, completely disregarding the aspersions cast on her character; long used to them and knowing in this case they were at least partially true.  “If that’s his best, then I hope he is a better friar than he is a brewer.”

           

Grumbles broke out around the fire as all the men gathered now voiced their discontent and their restless agitation began to show.  “How dare you!” the huge man burst out, gaze trained angrily on Regina.

 

            But Robin’s hand raised placatingly stopped the burly man’s tirade before it could truly begin, falling silent in deference to his leader’s stoic command.  “Peace, Little John,” he murmured softly, his voice firm and certain though barely raised, a voice well used to being followed absolutely, even if hardly louder than the crackling fire, the shuffling of unsettled feet, the night sounds around them, and her own breath rasping with exertion echoing in her ears.

 

            Despite herself, Regina simply couldn’t keep her tart tongue in check; she was too off-balance, too worried, feeling much too helpless and angry at everything and everyone to think before speaking.  It had earned her more than one harsh punishment from her lady mother in her childhood and adolescence, and she realized wryly that once again - despite all the years between and her drastic change in circumstances - she possessed more fire in her speech than was good for her. “Little?” she scoffed, wincing even as the word slipped off her tongue with derision.  She might be rightly shaken and perturbed, but that didn’t give her the right to be hurtful. “Most who would attach such a diminutive before their names might show a bit more restraint at evening repast to be sure the term still fit.” She wanted to bit her own tongue in reprisal, but the words had already been spoken, seeming to hang almost visibly in the smoky air.

 

            “Restraint?!?” the behemoth shot back, looking truly incensed now.  “You’re one to speak of restraint, when you wage war with every word that falls from your mouth. At finally meeting the sole heir of your family’s estate, I now see why it ended with no new generation to continue - “

 

            “Enough!” Robin’s sharp order was louder this time, cracking through the air like the whistle of an unfurled whip, harsher and more commanding than Regina had yet heard it - even when he and his men had charged into the fray along the road to battle their attackers.  His eyes, which had been so warm and inviting mere minutes before, glittered dangerously as they flicked between his second-in-command and herself, brooking no further obstinance. The argument was over. “Shame on you both, fighting like this when we are on the same side.  We must be united if we are to survive what faces us on the morrow. You know this,” he directed that last to his second harshly. The other man’s nod was tight with thwarted frustration, but he did not speak again.

 

            Robin’s shoulders dropped slightly.  “Go,” he told his troops still gathered around.  “Get what rest you may. We will need all the strength we can muster for the battle.”

 

            The men dispersed, melting silently back into the shadows of the trees.  The leader of their outlaw band remained seated across from Regina, silent now and looking somewhat deflated, as if having to exert his authority so harshly had drained him.  His head bowed the tiniest degree, and as he ran a weary hand back through his sandy hair in worried tension, Regina was flooded with regret at her outburst and her own ungratefulness.  She wanted to apologize, but instead only sat silently, uncertain how to fix the mess she had helped to make, hands clasped in her lap and feeling as small and as overwhelmed as she hadn’t since the night before she left her family home long ago - saying goodbye to the place where she had grown up after one last failed plea to her parents for the right to make her own path, and steeling herself to venture into the unknown world alone.

 

            Biting her lower lip, Regina braved another glance up at the man across from her, only to find him studying her curiously - as if she were some sort of puzzle he could solve and then come to understand.  His was gaze less stormy, more quiet and contemplative when he finally spoke, “You’re worried about her, aren’t you? Your ward?” he asked finally, his voice low and steady, though sincere in its question, expressing true concern.  Regina was surprised too at noticing a cultured polish to its deep tones that had escaped her notice previously and seemed incongruous with a woodland bandit.

 

            “Emma,” Regina clarified with a nod, not really wanting to proceed, knowing that thinking of her companion, the young woman she had rarely been separated from for any length of time, would only intensify the fears for her replaying in her mind.  “I realize there is nothing to be done tonight, and that it doesn’t excuse my rudeness to you or your men. My granny used to say my temper and my tongue would be a bane to me all of my days…” She shook her head ruefully at the memory that had once again proven true and paused before adding, “Be that as it may, I feel so helpless at the thought of her being hurt - or worse….” she shuddered, wrapping her arms around herself at the chill which overtook her.  “She’s been with me since she was two year old. In my heart, I feel she is in part my daughter. Not going to her this instant torments me so that I want to crawl out of my own skin!” She shook her head, words running out and getting her nowhere before trailing off to sit once again staring into the fire.

 

            Robin said nothing for some minutes, making Regina wonder if he would reply at all.  When he finally got to his feet, Regina half expected him to turn and leave her to her woes, not even sure she deserved more than that from him.  Still, her heart ached at the prospect of yet another man who could not handle, or did not wish to, all the impropriety, the whirling emotion, and the outspoken, nontraditional challenge she posed.

 

            However, he wholly surprised her.  Boots crunched lightly over the fallen leaves on the ground between them as the archer crossed the emptied circle toward her instead.  Removing his deep green cloak from his broad shoulders, he draped it over her own shivering ones, tucking it gently under her chin and then retreating a step as if suddenly afraid that had been too much.  When he dropped to sit once more, it was beside her instead, and when Regina met his gaze, it was wistful, melancholy, and seemed to have gained the understanding he had previously sought. “My wife, Marian...God rest her sweet soul...she died bringing our son Roland into this world.  She was goodness, purity and light...all I needed in this world...and to think that Roland will never know her…” he shook his head, fighting to rein in the emotion that had clearly risen with his words.

 

            Without thinking, Regina reached out a steadying hand and placed it on his knee in comfort.  

 

“Well, to put it bluntly, I often feel that I fail him every day, simply by being all he has.  And yet, I would give anything, bear anything, to insure his safety. So, I believe I know something of your fear,” he finished, giving her a grateful look before he lay his larger hand over her own where it still rested on his knee, clasping it with a gentle pressure.

 

Regina tried to ignore the frisson of heat that rippled up her arm at the simple contact - not only unfitting, but so unfamiliar to her that she hardly knew how to process it.

 

For his part, Robin looked startled as well when she blinked dazedly and once more met his eyes.  He leaned forward, close enough that his warm breath brushed across her nose and cheeks and she saw the determination solidify in the his face when he made her a solemn vow.  “We will find my friend, and your Emma. I swear it to you, Regina. On my honor.”

 

She held his faze for a breathless moment before finally whispering, “I may have only just met you, Robin of Locksley, but I believe you will.”

 

            Her affirmation, her belief in him seemed to transform his face.  The flickering light of the fire burning low captured the smile that curved his mouth upward and glanced off the laugh lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes.  “Yes,” she whispered again, as if cementing it in her heart for strength. “I believe you will.”

 

                        *******************************************************

_And so they linked their hands and danced Round in circles and in rows And so the journey of the night descends When all the shades are gone A garland gay we bring you here And at your door we stand It is a sprout well budded out The work of Our Lord's hand_  


 

            The Lady Swan’s voice wasn’t the soft, demure kind typical among the nobility. It was commanding and confident. Even while reading, the sound of it arrested Sir Killian. Listening to her read from the slim volume of poetry also gave him permission to study her features: her cheeks that appled when she smiled, the dimple in her chin, the dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Her eyes were hidden beneath her lashes as she bent her head over the book in her lap, but he had noticed them earlier that morning on the pillow next to him. They were a glassy shade of green that he didn’t think he had ever seen before. And her hair? It was braided today, tamed in a more socially acceptable fashion, yet it still glistened like polished bronze.

_We’ve been rambling all the night_

_And some time of this day_

_Now returning back again_

_We bring the garland gay._

            She finished reading the poem and smiled as she lifted her head to meet his gaze. “Do you wish for me to read another, my liege?”

            He shook his head. “No, m’lady. Courtly poetry can only entertain one for so long, even a knight.”

            Killian cocked his head and studied her as she chuckled lightly, running her hand along the cover of the book in her lap as she closed it. “Although,” he continued, “I would like to hear more of you, Lady Swan.”

            She shrugged as she set the book on the nightstand. “There isn’t much to tell, I’m afraid.” Her smile wavered, and it caused him to frown.

            “Being abandoned is no condemnation on _your_ character, but upon those who cast you aside.”

            Emma blinked and her lips parted on a half gasp. “But how did you –“

            “I know the look in your eyes for it is one I know well. It is one thing to be orphaned. It is quite another to feel you weren’t wanted.”

            Emma ducked her head. “I assumed, Sir Killian, that your parents had died.”

            “My mother did,” he told her softly, “I was very young, but I still remember her beauty and kindness.”

            Emma’s eyes held equal measures of tenderness and sadness. “I have often chafed over not knowing why I was abandoned in the forest. I never considered the pain of having a parent’s love and then losing it.”

            Killian searched her eyes intently. “One can never compare pain. It all hurts.”

            Emma gave him a tremulous smile. “That is true. And at least we each found a home.”

            Killian clenched his jaw and hesitated. Yet the look in the fair lady’s eyes, the clear pain of her abandonment, made him confess the truth that only two other people in the world knew.

            “Lord Stefan would have people think I was taken in as family, for the sake of his precious Lady’s memory. Yet truth be told, I was technically his slave.”

            If Emma had gasped in shock and disgust, he wouldn’t have blamed her. Yet she didn’t. Her brow furrowed as she searched his face.

            “How can that be?”

            “He . . . paid for me. Paid my father. My brother and I should have been slaves toiling on the manor, if not for Lady Rose. She loved us as sons.”

            “But not Lord Stefan?”

            Emma laid her hand upon the bed covers, and Killian wondered if she realized how close her fingers were to his.

            “He seemed to care for us, even if he were a bit distant at times. Perhaps we reminded him of the sons Lady Rose never bore him? I know not. He . . . preferred my brother. That I am sure of.”

            Emma leaned forward, a crooked smile upon her lips. “And what makes you believe so?”

            Killian smiled in return, “Everyone idolized Liam. He was so good and noble and charitable. Though I lost him, he is still my plumb line. Yet it seems so unattainable. He set the bar so high, how could I ever reach it?”

            Emma grasped his hand. “How can you say that? Tales of your heroics in the Crusades have preceded you home. You, Sir Killian, have many marks in the hero column. Don’t think so lowly of yourself.”

            Killian had the urge to link their fingers, but hesitated, choosing instead to run his thumb over Emma’s knuckles.

            “I am flattered m’lady, but it is bad form to speak only of myself. What of your beginnings?”

            Emma’s eyes grew distant as she began to speak. “Living with Lady Regina is all I have ever known. I was but a babe when I came to be in her home.”

            “But she has always been good to you?”

            “Aye, she has. Like I told you before, she educated me, taught me to fight and take care of myself. This is a cruel world for my sex, and Lady Regina always taught me that I can’t rely on a man to rescue me. She tilted her chin up. “The only one who saves me is me.”

            Killian grinned. “So I’ve noticed.”

            “I know that Regina is . . . unorthodox in her lifestyle. Combine that with my lack of proper lineage, and the hopes for me to marry are slim. Perhaps it seems lonely, but being an unmarried healer is the best future for me.”

            “You are a woman of such fire and passion,” Killian said softly, his voice dropping low, “it is a shame for you to choose such a life.”

            Emma’s eyes seemed a shade darker as she locked her gaze on his. For a moment, it was as if an invisible thread were drawing them closer. Killian turned his hand palm up and threaded his fingers with hers. Emma looked down at their joined hands, swallowing hard. Before she could pull her hand free or form a coherent sentence to break their sudden connection, the door to their chambers burst open. The sound sent Emma shooting to her feet, her face burning as if she’d been caught at something scandalous.

            Her blush quickly turned to a pallor as cold dread washed over her. The man before her was dressed regally, cruel power emanating from his features. When he saw her, that power softened to barely contained rage.

            “You’re not Lady Aurora,” he seethed with an icy tone.

            Emma swallowed down her fear. She curtsied quickly and forced a demure voice. “No, your highness, I am Emma Swan, a humble healer.”

            “Then why,” Prince James hissed as he strode across the room,” are you wearing her noble garments?”

            He grasped Emma’s chin in his hands, his fingers digging into her cheeks.

            “There is no need to lay a hand upon a lady,” Killian cried out, struggling to rise from his bed.

            Prince James released Emma roughly, causing her to stumble into the chest of drawers behind her. Killian lurched forward, throwing himself between Emma and the Prince. The royal laughed cruelly as Killian stumbled and fell at the Prince’s feet. Emma sank to her knees next to Killian and helped him to a seated position.

            “Lady Aurora does not wish to be your bride,” Emma yelled, not caring in the least about her lowly station, “so I helped her escape. She is far from your clutches by now, praise the Lord above.”

            Prince James’s rage was clearly evident on his face. Killian held his breath, praying fervently as he never had before. The Prince’s hand went to the hilt of his sword, and Killian knew nothing was stopping him from running them both through. Killian had never wanted his own sword so desperately.

            Prince James’s eyes narrowed, dark with loathing, but then he loosened his grip on his sword. His expression turned to one of scoffing.

            “I will dispose of you, Sir Killian . . . eventually. But for now, you are my bait. Common peasants you both may be, but your sentimental households will still no doubt come to your rescue.”

            He sneered before kicking Killian in the side. Killian cried out in pain, which only motivated Prince James to kick him again.

            “Stop! Stop!” Emma sobbed, flinging herself across Killian’s torso to block the blows.

            Prince James laughed sadistically then grabbed Emma by her hair. She screamed as he hauled her to her feet.

            “And _you_ ,” he spat in her face, “Sir Baelfire wants to wed you for some bizarre reason, so for his sake, I’ll let you live.” He ran a finger down the side of Emma’s face, and she shuddered at his touch. “I don’t know why he didn’t just take you when he had the chance.”

            Killian roared at his base words and managed to leap to his feet in his rage. He launched himself at Prince James, but the royal merely laughed again as he shoved the knight easily away from him, flinging him into Emma. They both fell into a heap upon the floor, and Prince James spat upon them both.

            “Enough of this,” he snarled, “I have a castle to fortify.”

            The Prince strode then from the chamber, slamming the heavy oak door behind him. Emma shifted, cradling Killian’s head in her lap as he groaned in pain. She ran her fingers through his hair, shaking her head at his foolishness.

            “What were you thinking, trying to attack him in your state?”

            “I am a knight,” Killian groaned, “I can’t abide a man accosting a lady. I took the vow of chivalry.”

            “Well, chivalry is all well and good until it gets you killed,” she quipped as she ran her hands along his torso. He cried out loudly as she touched one tender spot. “Your stab wound didn’t reopen, thank God above, but his kicks cracked your ribs all over again,” she fussed over him, “when they had just healed.”

            “That explains why it hurts when I laugh.”

            Emma rolled her eyes. “And whatever do you have to laugh about in our current predicament?”

            “I always laugh when an enemy underestimates his foe.”

            Emma helped him roll to his feet, then draped his arm over her shoulder as she helped him back to the bed. “You are brave, Sir Killian,” she grunted as she deposited him on the feather mattress, “but you are also far too cocky.”

            He grinned up at her as she tucked the coverlet around him. “I wasn’t talking about me.”

            Emma blushed as she turned to resume her seat beside the bed. To cover the way his praise flustered her, she retrieved the book of poetry and cleared her throat as she opened it.

            “I think poetry is needed to calm our humors, don’t you agree?”

            “Your voice will soothe every pain,” Killian told her with a clear note of flirtation in his voice.

            That infernal blush rose to her cheeks once again as she began to read.

_Alas my love you do me wrong To cast me off discourteously; And I have loved you oh so long Delighting in your company. Greensleeves was my delight, Greensleeves my heart of gold Greensleeves was my heart of joy And who but my lady Greensleeves._

 

           

           

 

 

 

 

  


 


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll go ahead and apologize that this has no Captain Swan in it. However, this contains some important information about what is happening with everyone else and sets up the next chapter. It does have true Sleeping Beauty (I mean, I'm assuming that's the name of shipping her with Phillip?) and Outlaw Queen, though.

              Aurora blinked, but no light penetrated the dark of the forest around her. She shivered. Even with Sir Phillip’s cloak added to Emma’s, the chill of night could not be warded off. This was the second night spent under the trees since fleeing their captors, and still Phillip insisted upon giving her added warmth while he took none for himself. He did the same with the meager rations in his satchel and the meat from the coney he had managed to shoot for their dinner. He was different from the rest of the knights in his company, and his gentleness and kindness warmed Aurora’s heart even as she feared what her father and Killian may be suffering.

              She shifted on the hard ground, wondering what had awakened her from her slumber. Then she heard it, a sharp cry from the other side of the cold embers of last night’s fire.

              “No, no! Please, no!”

              It was Phillip’s voice, and the brokenness and fear in it made Aurora’s heart clench with an almost physical pain. She heard him thrash and cry out again. The mumbled tone of his voice let her know he wasn’t awake. She crept across the ground to where he lay, letting his cloak slip from her shoulders. She eased down to kneel next to him, and was concerned to see how he trembled. Whether it was from the dreams plaguing him or the cold, she wasn’t sure, but she draped his cloak over his shoulders nonetheless. Her hand drifted to his shoulder and lingered there. She startled when he grasped it firmly in his own.      

              “Mother?” he asked in a wavering voice.

              She eased forward, eyes straining in the dark, but she didn’t think he was awake. She squeezed his hand and ran her thumb along his knuckles soothingly.

              “Phillip?”

              “Mother,” a slight cry trembled in his voice, “you’re here.”

              His voice slurred, and his hand grew limp in hers. She reached out and traced his forehead with her other hand and felt furrows under her fingertips. He was grimacing in his sleep; evidently still within the throws of his nightmare.

              “Don’t leave,” he whispered, sounding so much younger than his years.

              It was the most vulnerable any man had ever sounded in her presence, and something about it made a part of her heart unfurl in a way she had never known before. She shifted to sit next to him, running her fingers through his hair.

              “I am going nowhere, Phillip. I promise.”

              “There’s so much pain here, mother, so much hate . . .”

              “Shhh, sleep,” she whispered, her fingers still gently soothing his scalp. He let out a sigh, and as she traced his forehead with her thumb, it was smooth. His breathing soon evened out, and his fingers slipped from her grip. He was asleep again.

              Aurora gazed into the darkness, tears rolling down her cheeks. She knew what he was dreaming of; it was the Crusades.

                            *******************************************************

              Regina stomped across the campsite, looking around for something to kick, and frustrated when she could find nothing. The rising sun was burning off the mist of dawn, and she squinted against its light as she crossed her arms over her chest. Her fingers dug into her upper arms as she ground her teeth.

              “I always find ladies quite fetching when they want to hit something.”

              Regina spun around to see Robin Hood leaning cockily against a tree, his own arms crossed as he watched her with an infuriating smile upon his face. She scowled openly at him.

              “You make women irate on such a regular basis?”

              He chuckled as he pushed himself off the tree. “My wife would have said so when she lived. Yet her fire was one of the things I loved about her. She wasn’t afraid to speak her mind. All men need such a partner in life, in my opinion.’

              Regina rolled her eyes. “Please, you believe no such thing.”

              Robin’s eyebrows rose, “You think I’m lying?”

              Regina stomped closer to him, “Yes, I do. For one, men universally wish women to be meek and worship them no matter how infantile their actions. Secondly, you certainly didn’t listen when I spoke _my_ mind just now.”

              His face softened as he placed both hands on Regina’s shoulders. Her skin heated at his touch. “You have to trust me.”

              Regina blinked, thrown slightly by the tingle that skittered down her spine at his nearness. She shook her head and took a step back.

              “Trust you? Why should I? You’re a bandit that I’ve known for only two days. And the plan that your _merry men_ and Stefan’s knights have cobbled together could very well get Emma killed.”

              “Don’t forget that I fought alongside Sir Killian in the Crusades,” Robin retorted, his voice rising slightly. “I do not wish to see him harmed, nor does Lord Stefan want his daughter endangered.”

              “Then we storm the castle!” Regina cried.

              Robin stepped directly into her personal space and gazed into her eyes with fire in them. “And we would fail. You heard our scout. He saw Prince James and his knights heading for the castle where our friends are being held. We are far too outnumbered.”

              Regina looked away, partly because she didn’t want to hear his arguments and partly because the way he looked at her had her feeling off-kilter. She blinked rapidly as worry and fear threatened to overwhelm her. But Mills women didn’t show softness; they didn’t show weakness, so she squared her jaw and took a step away from the bandit at her side. He stopped her with a gentle hand to her elbow.

              “If there’s one thing I’ve learned eluding the Sheriff of Nottingham, it’s that you don’t reveal move three before you’ve made moves one and two.”

              Regina jerked her arm away. “This isn’t chess. Emma is no pawn.”

              He grinned at her. “But how do you know I don’t have an extra knight – or even a king – up my sleeve?” He reached out for her again, running his hand up and down her arm in what she assumed was supposed to be a soothing gesture. How could he know his touch left fire in its wake? “We’ll draw the Templar knights away from the castle where my men fight best. Meanwhile Stefan’s men will attack from the rear –“

              “- and set fire to the garrison,” Regina interrupted in irritation, “I was there for the strategy meeting, remember? So excuse me if I don’t want my dau – my ward – set on _fire_!”

              Robin shook his head. “It’s a diversion, remember. It will give us time to –“

              “To search every inch of that enormous castle?” she barked a sarcastic laugh. “There are so many holes in this plan, it’s ridiculous.”

              Robin’s eyes narrowed, a sure sign he was beginning to lose his patience with her. Regina could care less. She may have been the only women in this little band, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to just be dragged along in any fool hardy scheme they concocted. The two of them were in an obstinate standoff, but before either of them could get in another barb, a sharp, high pitched cry pierced the edge of the camp.

              “Please! Mercy! I beg of you!”

              Regina’s eyes rose in alarm as they met Robin’s, and they raced across the camp. At the edge of the forest clearing, the merry men had a figure surrounded, their bows fitted with arrows to point at the interloper. When Regina and Robin pushed through the crowd, they were both shocked to find a slight young woman with dark brown hair crumpled on the ground with both hands raised and a look of terror upon her face.

              “Stand down, men, she’s but a child!” Robin barked. Then he reached out for the girl and helped her up, speaking soothingly to her until her trembling ceased. He led her over to one of the logs by the fire, his eyes connecting with Regina’s as he did so. She understood his meaning and rushed to get the girl a cup of water. She accepted it gratefully, but only took a sip before speaking.

              “My name’s Violet, and I am a servant at Glowerhaven castle.”

              “Where they’re keeping Emma!” Regina gasped as she eagerly sat beside the girl. “No one seems to know who the Lord of that castle is. What can you tell us?”

              The girl’s eyes filled up with tears, and Regina rubbed her back soothingly. She took a deep breath, then spoke.             

              “It will be Sir Baelfire’s once he weds. It’s part of his father’s holdings, though it’s only been a summer holiday retreat all the years I’ve worked there.”

              Robin clenched a fist as he growled under his breath. “Lord Robert.”

              Violet nodded. “Aye. His main estate is Fortress Gold on the far side of the kingdom, though I’ve never been there.”

              Regina shook her head in frustration. “But what of the prisoners. What of my Emma?”

              “And my dear Aurora,” Stefan added, coming to stand beside Robin, his face a tortured mask of worry and fear.

              “It was Lady Emma and Sir Killian who told me to run. You see, her and Lady Aurora switched places that first day. I was to be the Lady Aurora’s chamber maid, but I’ve been Lady Emma’s instead while she cares for Sir Killian’s injuries.”

              “Switched places!” Stefan cried. “Where is my daughter now?”

              “She fled with Sir Phillip. To . . . Misthaven I believe?”

              “She fled in the company of one knight?” Stefan moaned as he sank to the log. “She’ll be ruined!”

              “Your daughter managed to escape from her kidnappers, and _that’s_ what you’re worried about?” Regina exclaimed. Lord Stefan gave her a disapproving glare that could have curdled milk, but Regina could care less. Of all the patriarchal, ridiculous –

              “Oh, but she had no choice, my Lord!” Violet exclaimed. “Prince James was on his way to force her into a marriage.” The child flushed as she glanced at the two men before her, then leaned towards Regina and whispered. “She was terrified, m’lady, she seemed to think he would . . . deflower her.”

              Violet began to tremble again, and Regina shot a glare of her own at Lord Stefan as she pulled the poor girl close. After a few moments of Regina’s soothing fingers in her hair, the girl lifted her tear streaked face to Regina.

              “Lord Killian was mending well under Lady Emma’s care, but then Sir James arrived. He frightened me so! He may be the prince, but he’s cruel.” She turned her gaze to the men. “He plans to use them as bait to capture Lord Stefan.”

              Robin nodded, rubbing his chin with his hand. “He assumes we still believe Aurora to be imprisoned at Glowerhaven.”

              “And we did,” Regina put in, giving Violet another smile, “until this brave girl found us.” Then she sighed deeply before looking up at Robin. “I do hate admitting when I’m wrong, but . . . what was that chess move you were planning again?”

              Robin grinned down at her, and she felt a blush rise up into her cheeks. He clapped his hands, “All right, Merry Men! Let’s prepare for battle!”

              Regina rose to her feet, relieved to finally be _doing_ something to help her ward. She was also relieved that she hadn’t been forced to make _her_ final chess move in order to ensure Emma’s safety. But before she could follow after Robin, Violet grasped her hand frantically.

              “They have to hurry!” Violet implored with a trembling voice. “Prince James has murder in his eyes.”

              Regina swallowed the bile that threatened to rise in her throat. She knew all too well Prince James’ true nature, and she’d be damned if the past eighteen years had been for naught.

             

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Hmmm, so what "chess move" is Regina keeping close to her chest? You'll have to keep reading to see :)  
> * The next chapter will be a big one with the siege of the castle.  
> * I've come up with a posting schedule for all of my fics, and this one should post on Fridays. Some weeks I may have to skip it, but I'll try my best!


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